Itye  Htbrarp 

ofttje 

fJnibenrttp  of  JSortJ  Carolina 


Collection  of  Jlortfj  Carolmiana 
C8\Z 
P3£>au 


This  BOOK  may  be  kept  out  TWO  WEEKS 

ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  fine  of  FIVE 
CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  was  taken  out 
on  the  day  indicated  below: 


Itt»S  IJTLi  HAS  BEEN  toiUKUHLiwtU 


Movi'5a<r 


AZALEA 


r~ 


~*i 


And  then  came  Azalea. 


AZALEA 


The  Story  of  a  Girl 

in  the 

Blue  Ridge  Mountains 


By 

ELIA  W.  PEATTIE 


Illustrations  by 
Hazel  Roberts 


The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co. 

Chicago 


Copyright,  1912 

by 

The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co. 


Azalea 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    The  McBirneys    9 

II    New  Friends  28 

III  In  Hiding  47 

IV  New  Clothes 69 

V    The  Shoals    88 

VI    Growing  Pains  108 

VII    The  Singing    123 

VIII    The  Kidnapping  143 

IX    Haystack  Thompson  162 

X    The  Escape    181 

XI    The  Summers  Family  198 

XII    Ma  Says  No 215 

XIII  At  Home  Again  236 

XIV  The  Sacrifice  247 

XV    Azalea  Chooses  265 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

And  then  came  Azalea Frontispiece 

"  She  ran  out  to  meet  me,"  he  cried 92 

"  So  that's  your  story,  missy." 178 

He  stood  there,  straight  and  fierce 270 


AZALEA 

The  Story  of  a  Girl  of  the  Blue  Ridge 
Mountains 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  MCBIRNEYS 

The  guinea  hens  wanted  everybody  to  get  up. 
They  said  so  right  under  the  bedroom  window; 
and  the  turkey  gobbler  had  the  same  wish  and 
made  it  known  in  his  most  important  manner. 
Hours  before,  Mr.  Rhode  Island  Red,  the 
rooster,  had  expressed  his  opinion  on  the  subject, 
and  from  the  first  pale  hint  of  dawn  till  the  sun 
swung  up  in  the  clear  May  sky,  a  great  company 
of  tanagers,  robins,  martins,  meadow  larks  and 
their  friends  had  suggested,  each  in  his  own  way, 
that  it  was  time  to  be  awake. 

But  really,  it  didn't  need  all  of  this  clamor 
to  get  the  McBirneys  out  of  bed.  Since  sunup, 
Thomas  McBirney  had  been  planting  cotton  on 
the  red  clay  terraces  of  his  mountain  farm;  and 


io  AZALEA 

Mary  McBirney,  his  wife,  had  been  busied  lay- 
ing her  hearth-fire,  getting  the  breakfast  and 
feeding  the  crowing,  cackling,  gobbling  crea- 
tures in  the  yard.  And  three  times  she  had 
thrust  her  head  in  at  the  door  of  the  lean-to  to 
say  that  if  she  were  a  boy  she'd  get  up  and  see 
what  a  pretty  day  it  was. 

James  Stuart  McBirney,  otherwise  Jim, 
thought  his  mother  was  right  about  almost  every- 
thing, but  he  did  differ  with  her  about  getting 
up  when  a  fellow  felt  like  a  log  and  his  eyes 
were  as  tight  as  ticks.  He  had  heard  her  say 
there  was  a  time  for  everything,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  time  to  sleep  was  when  a  fellow 
was  sleepy.  Why  should  sensible  people  send 
him  to  bed  when  he  wasn't  sleepy  and  make  him 
get  up  when  he  was? 

Besides,  something  kept  nagging  away  in  the 
back  of  his  mind.  It  was  something  that  he 
ought  to  remember,  and  couldn't  quite,  on  ac- 
count of  being  so  sleepy.  Or  perhaps  he  didn't 
want  to  remember  it.  At  any  rate,  it  wouldn't 
let  him  rest  in  comfort,  but  pecked  away  like  a 
woodpecker  at  a  tree.  So,  in  spite  of  himself,  it 
all  came  back  to  him.  Ma  was  out  of  "  fat  pine  " 
for  kindling,  and  he  must  go  hunting  it. 


THE  McBIRNEYS  n 

Well,  if  he  must  — 

"  It  don't  seem  as  you  ought  to  be  so  long 
getting  into  such  a  few  clothes,  Jimmy,"  a  soft 
voice  called.  "  You'll  be  falling  into  lazy  habits 
if  you  don't  set  a  watch  on  yourself,  and  you'll 
never  get  shet  of  them,  long  as  you  live." 

"  Yessum,"  said  Jim. 

"  I  can  see  your  pa  a-coming  'cross  the  fields 
now,  and  I  reckon  if  you  don't  do  some  hustling 
he'll  catch  you  dawdling." 

"  Yessum." 

"  And,  Jimmy!  " 

"  Yessum?" 

"  I've  been  hearing  that  Aunt  Nan  Leiter's 
got  a  making  of  that  blue  dye  like  I've  been 
wanting.  I  reckon  after  you've  got  the  wood 
you'd  better  walk  over  yon  and  get  the  bucket 
of  it  she  promised  to  give  me." 

"  Yessum." 

"  And,  Jimmy,  here's  your  pa." 

"  Yessum." 

"  Ain't  you  washed  yet,  son?    Shame  on  you !  " 

There  was  a  wild  splashing  of  water  on  the 
back  porch  where  the  wash  basin  stood,  a  gasp- 
ing and  panting,  and  then,  with  one  last 
"Yessum,"  James  Stuart  McBirney  stood  in  the 


12  AZALEA 

door.  His  turned-up  nose,  his  freckles  and  his 
blue  eyes  all  shone  as  if  he  had  polished  them, 
and  his  curling,  clay-colored  hair  had  drawn 
itself  up  in  tight  ringlets  about  his  head. 

He  had  been  hoping  that  no  one  would  pay 
any  attention  to  him,  and  he  had  his  wish.  Ma 
was  setting  breakfast  on  the  table,  steaming  hot 
from  the  hearth.  Pa  was  standing  outside  the 
door  shading  his  eyes  with  one  hand. 

"  What  all  are  you  peering  at  that  a-way,  Pa 
McBirney?  "  asked  his  wife.  "  Is  it  some  one 
coming  over  the  gap?  I  heard  tell  that  Sam 
Bixby  and  his  brothers  was  about  to  bring  over 
a  string  of  horses  from  their  place  for  trading 
day  at  Lee.  As  like  as  not  it's  them  you're 
seeing." 

"  No  it  ain't,  Mary  —  and  it  ain't  nobody  we 
ever  set  eyes  on  before." 

"  Why,  Thomas,  how  can  you  tell  that,  with 
them  just  coming  over  the  top  of  the  gap?  " 

"Well!"  said  Pa  McBirney,  "I'll  be  dum- 
foundered! " 

At  that  Jim  and  his  mother  went  to  the  door. 
They  thought  it  was  about  time  to  see  what  was 
ailing  pa.  The  three  had  a  way  of  sharing  every- 
thing; and  it  was  no  wonder  that  they  did  so, 


THE  McBIRNEYS  13 

for  they  had  only  themselves  for  company.  Their 
cabin,  with  its  two  large  rooms,  its  open  chamber 
between,  and  the  lean-to,  where  Jim  slept,  sat  on 
a  pleasant  bench  of  Mount  Tennyson,  two  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  Through 
their  yard  ran  the  road  that  carried  people  from 
over  Burlingame  way,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
mountain,  down  to  Lee,  the  town  that  lay  below 
them  in  the  purple  valley.  Sometimes,  when 
the  wind  was  right,  they  could  hear  the  mill 
whistles  blow  at  Lee,  or  the  church  bells  ring; 
and  sometimes  they  could  see  the  houses  there 
as  plain  as  anything.  But  usually  the  little  town 
looked  to  them  as  if  it  were  wrapped  around  in 
purple  veils;  and  when  the  rain  came,  it  was 
swallowed  up  in  white  blankness. 

The  McBirneys  thought  they  lived  in  a  very 
pleasant  and  exciting  place.  Sometimes  as  many 
as  five  or  six  teams  passed  their  door  in  one  day, 
and  it  was  seldom  indeed  that  anyone  drove  by 
without  stopping  to  pass  the  time  of  day.  If  by 
chance  the  McBirneys  were  sitting  down  to  a 
meal,  the  travelers  were  asked  to  share  it  with 
them,  and  to  water  their  horses  and  take  a  little 
rest  before  going  on  down  the  mountain.  Ma 
said  it  was  a  fine  thing  for  them,  being  taken 


14  AZALEA 

unawares  like  that.  It  made  them  keep  the  house 
tidy  and  themselves  ready  to  see  folks.  But  there 
were  weeks  of  rain  or  snow  there  on  the  moun- 
tain side  when  almost  nobody  passed,  and 
when  the  McBirneys  couldn't  get  to  town;  and 
the  only  sounds  to  be  heard  were  their  own 
voices  and  the  baying  of  the  four  hounds,  or  the 
crying  of  the  trees  and  the  crackling  of  the  fire 
on  the  hearth. 

Not  long  ago,  there  had  been  four  of  them 
instead  of  three.  There  had  been  Molly,  Jim's 
little  sister,  a  little  girl  with  hair  the  color  of 
corn  silk,  and  eyes  as  dark  as  "  spider  lilies." 
And  now  she  was  lying  under  that  tiny  heap 
of  earth  beneath  the  Pride  of  India  tree,  and 
Jim's  mother  was  different  —  quite  different  — 
from  what  she  had  been  before.  Her  face  was 
sweeter,  perhaps,  but  it  looked  so  that  Jim 
couldn't  keep  from  crying,  to  himself,  of  course. 
And  in  spite  of  all  they  could  do,  all  three  of 
them  kept  counting  Molly  in;  and  now  as  he 
ran  to  the  door  to  see  what  was  going  on  up 
there  at  the  gap,  he  couldn't  help  thinking  how 
much  more  fun  it  would  have  been  if  he  and 
Molly  had  been  pushing  and  scrambling  and 
pretending  to  see  which  could  get  out  first,  in 


THE  McBIRNEYS  15 

the  old  way.  In  those  old  days  his  mother  would 
have  been  calling  out  in  the  laughing  voice  she 
used  to  have: 

"  Come  along,  children,  something's  going 
on." 

But  now  father,  mother  and  boy  were  silent 
as  they  stood  together  looking  up  where  the  red 
road  made  its  way  through  the  forest  over  the 

gap- 
Pa  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  As  near  as  I  can  make  out,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  it's  three  wagons  loaded  to  the  limit,  and  a  lot 
of  people  on  foot  walking  alongside." 

"  Queer  doings,  ain't  it?  "  murmured  ma. 

"  I  allow  I'd  better  run  up  the  road  a  piece," 
Jim  said,  slipping  in  his  words  softly,  as  if  he 
hoped  they  might  go  unnoticed,  "  and  see  what's 
doing." 

"  And  I  allow,"  said  his  father  in  his  most 
downright  voice,  "  that  we-all  will  just  sit  down 
and  eat  that  there  good  breakfast  ma  has  cooked, 
and  if  we  keep  eating  steady  we'll  be  through 
with  the  whole  business  before  them  folks,  who- 
ever they  be,  gets  anywhere  nigh." 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  added  ma,  "  I  do  wish  you'd  sit 


1 6  AZALEA 

down  and  eat  things  while  they're  hot  and  fit 
for  eating." 

So  they  sat  down  and  went  at  their  breakfast 
as  if  it  were  a  piece  of  hard  work  that  must  be 
got  out  of  the  way,  and  then,  having  finished 
and  slipped  what  was  left  to  Molly's  cat  and  the 
four  hounds,  they  got  out  of  doors  as  quickly 
as  they  could. 

"  The  procession  is  hid  around  the  bend  of 
the  road,"  said  ma. 

But  even  as  she  spoke  the  words,  the  "  pro- 
cession "  appeared,  though  it  was  almost  above 
the  McBirney's  heads.  Both  men  and  animals 
were  moving  along  very  slowly,  as  if  —  as  pa 
put  it  —  they  were  "dead  beat." 

"  It  looks,"  said  ma  softly,  "  like  a  funeral." 

"  No,  it  don't  nuther,  ma,"  pa  answered 
sharply.  "  It  don't  look  nothing  like  a  funeral. 
It  looks  like  a  family  moving." 

"  It's  a  mighty  large  family  then,  Thomas." 

"  Maybe  it's  folks  going  down  to  work  in  the 
cotton  mill  at  Lee,"  Jim  suggested.  "  I  heard 
Rath  Rutherford  saying  there  was  agents  going 
all  through  the  mountains,  asking  folks  to  go 
down  and  work." 

"  Yes,  folks  with  children,"  snapped  Pa  Mc- 


THE  McBIRNEYS  17 

Birney.  "  That's  the  kind  they  want,  and  that's 
the  kind  that'll  go  —  folks  that  can  get  their 
boys  and  girls  in  the  mill  and  make  'em  work 
for  'em.  I'd  see  myself  lying  down  and  letting 
my  children  put  food  in  my  mouth!" 

"  Well,  as  near  as  I  can  make  out,"  said  Mary 
McBirney,  "  there's  only  two  children  in  that 
company.     All  the  rest  is  grown  folks." 

The  three  wagons  with  their  sagging  cloth 
tops,  swung  around  the  next  curve  and  turned 
toward  the  McBirney  cabin.  The  horses  walked 
with  drooping  heads;  the  people  dragged  their 
feet.  Pa  went  forward  to  meet  them,  and  close 
behind  him,  trying  hard  to  see  and  not  to  be 
seen,  went  Jim.  Ma  McBirney  went  back  and 
sat  on  a  chair  in  the  doorway,  something  as  a 
queen  might  go  back  and  sit  on  her  throne. 

"  Howdy,"  said  pa. 

"  Howdy,"  responded  the  man  who  led  the 
first  pair  of  horses. 

Pa  asked  no  questions  —  that  would  not  have 
been  polite  according  to  his  idea.  He  seemed 
not  to  look  at  the  tired  horses  or  the  still  more 
weary  men  and  women,  or  at  the  wagons  with 
their  queer  load.     All  he  said  was: 

"  There's  a  good  spring  of  water  over  yon,  if 


i 8  AZALEA 

so  be  you're  wanting  water;  and  this  here  bench 
is  a  good  one  to  rest  on  before  going  on  down 
the  mountain." 

By  "  bench  "  he  meant,  of  course,  the  level 
bit  of  land  on  the  mountain  side. 

Jim  knew  that  his  father  was  simply  quiver- 
ing inside,  just  as  he  was  himself,  to  know  what 
those  people  were  doing  and  what  they  were 
carrying  in  their  wagons. 

The  man  looked  at  pa  and  nodded. 

"  We're  about  tuckered  out,"  he  admitted. 

"  Come  far?  "  asked  pa.  It  hurt  his  pride  to 
ask  the  question,  but  he  had  to  do  it.  The  man 
looked  at  pa  impatiently. 

"  Why,  we're  always  on  the  road,"  he  said. 
"  We've  got  a  show  here." 

A  show!  Jim  felt  something  running  up  his 
spine  —  something  that  felt  as  cold  and  swift 
as  a  lizard.  It  was  really  a  thrill  of  excitement, 
but  Jim  was  afraid  it  was  some  sort  of  sickness. 
He  was  not  used  to  the  feeling. 

The  queer  procession  came  to  a  stop  in  the 
McBirney  clearing.  There  were  three  covered 
wagons,  six  thin  horses,  five  men,  two  women, 
a  boy  and  a  girl.  All  were  walking.  The  man 
to  whom  pa  had  spoken  was  pale,  fat  and  tired 


THE  McBIRNEYS  19 

looking,  and  while  pa  was  looking  him  over  in 
his  quiet  way  the  man  took  off  his  hat  and 
wiped  the  moisture  from  his  head. 

"  We're  out  of  luck,"  he  said.  "  There's  a 
dying  woman  in  that  last  wagon  —  the  smartest 
performer  of  the  bunch.  Sing  or  dance  or  any- 
thing. That's  her  girl  there."  He  pointed  to  a 
slender  girl  of  about  Jim's  own  age,  who  stood 
staring  off  into  the  valley,  though  Jim,  who  had 
seen  that  same  sort  of  a  look  in  his  mother's 
face,  knew  she  wasn't  really  seeing  it.  She 
wasn't  seeing  anything,  he  decided. 

"  Sho!  "  murmured  Pa  McBirney.  "  Dying? 
Are  you  sure?  " 

The  man  thwacked  a  huge  horsefly  on  his 
horse's  flank. 

"  Sure,"  said  he. 

One  of  the  women  asked  pa  if  they  might 
cook  their  breakfast  in  the  open  "  rock  "  fire- 
place that  stood  there  in  the  yard. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  pa  quickly.  And  then 
he  called:  "  Here,  ma,  these  folks  want  to  cook 
their  breakfast  here  a-way.  And  they  say 
there's  a  mighty  sick  woman  in  that  tent-wagon 
yon." 

Mary  McBirney,  whose  shyness  had  kept  her 


20  AZALEA 

sitting  as  still  as  if  she  were  under  some  spell, 
got  up  at  once  when  she  heard  this,  and  came 
forward.  She  nodded  to  the  men  and  women 
without  really  looking  at  them,  because  that  was 
her  way  with  strangers. 

"Where's  the  sick  woman,  please?"  she 
asked  in  her  soft  voice.  The  girl  who  had  stood 
looking  at  the  valley  turned  at  this. 

"  I'll  show  you,  please  ma'am,"  she  said,  and 
her  voice  sounded  so  tired  that  it  made  a  lump 
come  in  Jim's  throat. 

Mary  McBirney  reached  down  and  took  the 
girl's  thin  brown  hand  in  her  own,  and  the  two 
went  on  to  the  wagon,  the  others  watching  them. 
They  saw  her  lean  forward  and  look  in  the 
wagon,  and  then  draw  back  with  a  startled  face. 

"Why,  it's  over!"  she  called.  "Pa!  Pa! 
The  poor  soul's  gone!" 

At  that  the  other  women  ran  toward  her. 

"  Why,  she  was  breathing  a  mile  or  two 
back,"  the  one  they  called  Betty  said.  "  I 
looked  in  at  her  and  gave  her  a  drink." 

"  We  didn't  stay  in  the  wagon  because  it  shut 
out  the  air,"  explained  the  other.  "  Zalie  here, 
wanted  to  stay  with  her  mamma,  but  we  coaxed 


THE  McBIRNEYS  21 

her  not  to,  for  the  poor  thing  needed  all  the  air 
she  could  get." 

But  the  girl  was  in  the  wagon  now,  letting 
her  tears  rain  on  the  face  of  the  only  one  in  all 
the  world  she  ever  had  called  her  own. 

Betty  Bowen  began  to  call  to  her  to  come  out, 
but  Ma  McBirney  said:  "Just  let  her  cry! 
Poor  little  thing  —  she's  just  got  to  cry." 

Betty  Bowen,  and  her  friend  Susan  Hetter, 
began  to  sniffle  a  little  too,  but  Mary  McBirney 
looking  at  them  made  up  her  mind  that  they 
were  not  caring  very  much.  They  looked  too 
dragged  out  to  care  about  anything.  The  dust 
of  the  road  seemed  to  have  got  into  their  very 
skin;  they  looked  as  if  they  never  had  slept  in  a 
proper  bed  or  dressed  in  a  proper  room;  and 
though  Mrs.  McBirney  did  not  like  them,  and 
could  hardly  keep  from  drawing  away  from 
them,  she  felt  very  sorry  for  them  too. 

"Where's  the  girl's  pa?"  she  asked  them. 

"  We  don't  know,"  Betty  Bowen  said.  "  Mrs. 
Knox  —  that's  the  dead  woman,  ma'am  —  never 
said  anything  about  him." 

"Ain't  she  got  no  kin?"  asked  ma  gently. 

"  None  that  we  know  of,  ma'am." 

Jim  stood  looking  on,  his  lips  pressed  hard 


22  AZALEA 

together.  The  girl's  mother  was  dead.  Her 
mother  was  dead!  Why,  that  must  be  like 
having  the  world  come  to  an  end,  pretty  near. 
If  your  mother  was  dead,  it  didn't  matter  if 
if  you  did  belong  to  a  show.  But  that  boy 
over  there,  his  mother  wasn't  dead,  and  yet  he 
acted  as  "  dumb  "  as  a  snail.  Jim  felt  that  if 
he,  himself,  belonged  to  a  show  he'd  be  yelling 
and  jumping  and  having  a  whopping  time. 
Every  spare  minute  he'd  be  practicing  up  in  his 
part.  But  these  folks  acted  as  if  they  hardly 
had  life  enough  to  cross  the  yard;  and  as  for 
the  horses,  their  heads  hung  down  and  their 
bones  stuck  out  as  if  they  were  ready  for  the 
buzzards  to  pick.  Jim  hated  to  have  that  girl 
crying  like  that.  There  was  no  fun  in  having 
a  show  in  your  yard  when  a  girl  was  making 
such  a  noise.  He  tried  to  forget  about  it,  and 
walked  around  looking  in  the  wagons  —  not  the 
wagon  where  the  girl  was,  but  the  others  — 
hoping  to  find  some  wild  animals  in  cages.  But 
the  only  wild  animals  he  saw  were  made  out  of 
wood. 

"  What's  them  for?  "  he  asked  one  of  the  men, 
pointing  to  a  wooden  zebra  and  a  somewhat 
faded  tiger. 


THE  McBIRNEYS  23 

"  For  the  merry-go-round,"  said  the  man. 
"  Ever  see  one?  "  Jim  shook  his  head,  and  the 
man  tried  to  tell  him  what  a  merry-go-round 
was  like.  Jim  was  disgusted  to  think  how  long 
he  had  lived  without  seeing  anything  like  that. 

"  I  should  think,"  he  said  to  the  man,  "  that 
this  here  bench  would  be  a  good  place  to  set  up 
your  show." 

"Oh,  fine!"  answered  the  man  with  a  dis- 
agreeable laugh.  "  Then  all  the  jack  rabbits 
and  spit  cats  in  the  whole  neighborhood  could 
come,  couldn't  they?  " 

"  If  you'd  set  it  up,  please  sir,"  said  Jim,  "  I'd 
run  all  over  the  mountain  in  no  time,  telling  the 
folks  about  it.  There's  lots  of  folks  on  this 
mountain  —  more'n  you'd  think.  They'd  pay 
you  money." 

But  the  head  man,  Sisson,  had  come  up  and 
begun  talking  about  the  dead  woman. 

"  I'm  just  figuring,"  he  said,  "  whether  to 
take  her  down  to  a  burying  ground  in  the  next 
town,  or  to  make  a  grave  up  here." 

Just  then  Jim's  father  came  up. 

"  My  wife  says  for  you-all  to  leave  that  poor 
woman  right  up  here,"  he  said.  "  She  can  be 
buried  out  there  by  that  Pride  of  India  tree 


24  AZALEA 

beside  our  little  girl,  and  ma  will  keep  every- 
thing looking  fine  —  plant  roses,  you  know,  and 
all  that." 

The  men  didn't  seem  to  care  much  about 
roses. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Sisson  shortly;  "  that'll  be  all 
right." 

"How  could  it  be  'all  right'?"  Jim  won- 
dered. Now  that  he  had  stopped  talking  about 
the  show  he  could  hear  that  girl  again,  and  it 
made  him  feel  very,  very  queer.  The  lump 
came  back  in  his  throat  and  things  sort  of  shook 
before  his  eyes.  He  felt  as  if  something  in  him 
was  going  to  burst.  And  just  then  some  one 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  He  looked  up 
and  saw  his  mother  standing  there.  Her  face 
seemed  unusually  thin  and  white  and  her  eyes 
very  large,  and  there  was  something  so  kind  — 
so  terribly,  heart-breakingly  kind  —  in  them, 
that  the  something  in  him  did  burst,  and  he 
found  himself  crying  in  his  mother's  dress. 

"  I  reckon  if  you  feel  as  sorry  as  that  for  the 
poor  girl,  you'll  like  to  do  something  to  help." 

Jim  nodded,  not  being  able  to  speak. 

"  Well,  you  get  a  cup  of  fresh  milk  and  carry 
it  to  my  bedroom.  I'm  going  to  get  the  poor 
child  in  there  and  coax  her  to  lie  down." 


THE  McBIRNEYS  25 

Jim  ran  to  the  spring  house  —  tormented  all 
the  while  with  those  sobs  in  his  throat  —  and 
filled  the  tall  horn  cup  with  milk.  When  he 
carried  it  into  his  mother's  room  he  found  the 
girl  lying  on  the  bed,  with  Ma  McBirney  bath- 
ing her  face  and  talking  to  her  softly. 

"  I'm  unplaitingyour  hair,  dear,"  she  was  say- 
ing in  a  voice  so  soft  that  it  made  Jim  think  of 
the  pigeons  out  at  the  barn,  "  and  I'm  going 
to  smooth  it.    You  don't  mind,  do  you?" 

"  No'm,"  said  the  girl  brokenly. 

"  And  here's  the  milk,  all  nice  and  cold.  If 
it  would  please  you  to  drink  a  little  of  that!  " 

She  half-lifted  the  little  figure  in  her  arms 
and  held  her  so  while  the  girl  let  the  cool  milk 
run  down  her  hot  throat.  Jim  noticed  that  when 
she  lay  down  again,  she  took  the  edge  of  ma's 
apron  between  her  fingers  and  held  on  to  it. 
Jim  understood  why.  He  felt  just  like  doing 
that  himself. 

"  My  little  girl  that  died,"  said  ma,  still  in 
that  soft,  cooing  voice,  "  had  yellow  hair.  Yours 
is  brown,  but  it's  just  as  pretty." 

The  girl  twisted  ma's  apron  in  and  out  around 
her  fingers;  she  could  think  of  nothing  to  say. 

"  My  little  Molly's  eyes  was  blue,  but  yours 
is  just  the  color  of  Job's  tears." 


26  AZALEA 

"Job's  tears?"  asked  the  girl.  "What  are 
they,  please  ma'am?" 

"  You  don't  know  what  Job's  tears  be,  honey? 
Why  they're  the  prettiest  little  things  —  sort  of 
beans,  they  be  —  and  folks  dries  and  strings  'em. 
Jimmy,  you  fetch  that  string  from  the  bureau." 

Jim  brought  the  string  of  softly  polished  gray 
beadlike  things,  and  Ma  McBirney  slipped 
them  softly  over  the  girl's  head. 

"  They  just  match  your  eyes,  honey.  You 
must  wear  them  to  remember  me  by!  " 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am.  But  I'll  remember  you 
anyway.  You'll  be  taking  care  of  mamma  for 
me." 

"  Now  here,  honey,  don't  you  start  crying 
again!  You  can  do  all  the  crying  you  want  by 
and  by.  But  now  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me. 
What  call  have  you  got  to  go  on  with  them 
show  people?  " 

"What  else  can  I  do,  ma'am?  They're  all 
the  people  I  know." 

"  What  do  you  do  in  the  show?  " 

"  Not  much  now  since  my  pony  died.  I  used 
to  ride  him,  ma'am.  Now  I  sell  things  —  pea- 
nuts or  pictures  or  songs  or  anything." 

A  wave  of  scarlet  went  over  her  face,  and 


THE  McBIRNEYS  27 

Jim  knew  she  hated  being  with  the  show  and  he 
wondered  why.  He  would  have  liked  to  do  that 
kind  of  thing  very  well. 

"  Tell  me  —  I  won't  tell  no  one  —  be  they 
good  to  you?"  asked  ma. 

The  girl  turned  her  tear-darkened  eyes  on 
her. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know — I  don't  know!"  she 
broke  out.  "Oh,  I'm  so  tired!  What  shall  I 
do?    What  shall  I  do?" 

Ma  McBirney  stooped  down  and  put  both 
arms  tight  about  the  girl's  shaking  form. 

"  I  reckon  you'd  better  stay  right  here  with 
me,"  she  said.  "  I'm  needing  a  little  girl  terri- 
ble; and  you've  lost  your  ma.  You  stay  right 
here  with  me.    What  do  you  say  to  that?  " 

The  girl  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked  straight 
into  Ma  McBirney's  eyes. 

"They'd  never  let  me!"  she  cried. 

"  Now  maybe  they  would,  dear.  Would  you 
like  it?  " 

"Oh!"  sighed  the  girl;  "Oh,  ma'am!" 

"  What  was  that  name  I  heard  them  calling 
you?" 

"  Zalie,  ma'am.     My  name  is  Azalea." 


CHAPTER  II 

NEW  FRIENDS 

How  does  news  spread  on  the  mountain  side? 
Who  carried  the  word  to  the  little  lonely  cabins 
on  the  wide  sides  of  old  Tennyson  mountain  that 
there  were  "  things  going  on "  at  the  Mc- 
Birney's?  Did  the  buzzards  wing  the  message 
—  or  the  bald-headed  eagle  that  kept  eyrie  in 
the  blasted  Norway  pine  above  the  ginseng  lot? 
Or  the  martins  that  made  their  home  in  the  dried 
gourds  that  had  been  swung  for  them  on  the 
high  crosstrees  before  the  McBirney's  door? 

However  that  may  be,  by  noon  the  people  be- 
gan to  arrive.  Some  of  them  rode  their  mules 
or  horses;  some  drove  in  their  carts  or  wagons; 
but  the  greater  number  came  on  foot,  slipping 
along  the  steep  paths  on  the  pine  needles,  or 
leaping  among  the  rocks,  sure  of  foot,  long  of 
limb,  and  caring  nothing  for  distance. 

They  were  quiet  folk  with  soft  voices   and 

with  their  hearts  in  the  right  place.    So,  though 

j  they  wanted  as  much  as  if  they  had  been  chiL 

28 


NEW  FRIENDS  29 

dren,  to  see  the  merry-go-round  and  all  the  rest 
of  the  show,  they  would  not  so  much  as  hint  at 
it  because  of  the  dead  woman  who  lay  all  clean 
and  decent  on  the  ironing  board  laid  across  two 
sawhorses,  there  in  the  open  room  between  the 
bedroom  and  the  kitchen,  in  Mary  McBirney's 
house.  Over  her  a  fresh  sheet  fell.  On  her 
bosom  lay  branches  of  wild  azalea,  for  her  name, 
too,  had  been  Azalea. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  went  about  with  a 
strange  look  on  her  face.  She  listened  to  all 
that  was  said  to  her,  but  she  seemed  not  really 
to  hear. 

"  Your  ma  hadn't  ought  to  be  seeing  all  these 
folks  and  going  through  this  experience," 
Thomas  McBirney  said  to  his  boy  Jim.  "  It's 
getting  on  her  mind." 

"  It's  that  there  girl,"  Jim  whispered.  "  I 
heard  her  asking  her  if  she  didn't  want  to  live 
here  with  us." 

"  Sho!  "  said  pa.  "  That's  how  the  land  lays! 
And  what  did  the  little  girl  say?  " 

"  We  might  go  for  some  fresh  water  to  the 
spring,"  said  Jim,  "  and  then  we  can  talk." 

So  these  two  good  friends  set  off  together,  and 


30  AZALEA 

Jim  told  his  father  all  that  he  had  heard  his 
mother  and  Azalea  say  to  each  other. 

"  There's  a  good  deal  of  whiskey  being  passed 
around  on  the  quiet  among  them  show  folks," 
said  pa.  "  It  ain't  only  the  men  that's  taking  it 
neither.  I  hold  with  your  ma  that  we've  got  a 
call  to  see  to  that  girl.  What  if  our  Molly  had 
been  left  like  that  and  she'd  fallen  to  the  care 
of  them  that  was  evil  in  their  ways,  and  been  let 
go  to  destruction  by  Christians  that  might  have 
saved  her  and  wouldn't  on  account  of  blind  self- 
seeking?  " 

On  their  way  back  from  the  spring  they  saw 
old  Elder  Mills  coming  along  on  his  tall  mule. 
Some  one  had  summoned  him  to  preach  the 
funeral  sermon.  Jim  knew  just  how  he  would 
do,  shouting  out  in  his  wild  singsong  till  the 
mountains  echoed,  and  filling  the  people 
with  fear.  He  looked  like  a  giant  as  he  rode 
toward  them,  his  thick,  curling  iron-gray  hair 
standing  out  all  over  his  head  and  his  dark  eyes 
burning  like  fires  in  their  deep  sockets. 

"Look  a-here,  Elder,"  Pa  McBirney  said; 
"  before  we  get  up  where  the  folks  is,  I've  a 
request  to  make  of  you.  You  size  up  them  there 


NEW  FRIENDS  31 

show  people.  You've  had  experience  and  you 
know  the  good  from  the  bad." 

"Judge  not  that  ye  be  not  judged!"  roared 
the  elder.  "  It  is  the  Lord's  business  to  divide 
the  sheep  from  the  goats." 

"  Maybe,  maybe,  Elder,"  said  pa  soothingly. 
"  But  you're  something  of  a  hand  at  it  yourself. 
And  I'm  asking  you  to  see  my  wife  in  private. 
She's  got  something  on  her  mind,  Elder,  and 
she  needs  your  help." 

"  All  right,  brother  McBirney,"  the  elder 
agreed.  "  Anything  I  can  do  for  sister  Mc- 
Birney, it  gives  me  pleasure  to  do,  sir,  for  a 
better  woman  I  never  did  know,  and  I've  known 
a  power  of  good  ones  in  my  time." 

Half  an  hour  after  they  had  got  back  to  the 
clearing,  Jimmy,  who  was  standing  around  wait- 
ing for  a  chance  to  get  acquainted  with  the  boy 
who  had  come  with  the  show  people,  heard  his 
father  and  mother  and  Elder  Mills  bidding  the 
show  people  to  come  into  the  kitchen.  He 
knew  well  enough  what  they  were  going  to  talk 
about.  His  pa  and  ma  were  going  to  ask  that 
poor  girl  of  them.  The  mountain  people  who 
had  gathered,  and  who  were  making  themselves 
at  home  there  in  the  clearing,  seemed  to  guess 


32  AZALEA 

what  was  in  the  wind.  Jim  heard  his  mother's 
friend,  Mrs.  Leiter  saying:  "  It  would  be  the 
best  thing  that  could  come  to  the  child.  Mrs. 
McBirney  would  be  a  real  mother  to  her;  and 
like  as  not  the  child  would  put  heart  into  Mrs. 
McBirney.  She  ain't  never  been  herself  a  min- 
ute since  Molly  was  took.  To  my  seeing,  them 
show  folks  ain't  the  kind  to  have  charge  of  a 
child  —  particularly  not  a  nice  little  girl  like 
that  one." 

By  and  by  all  of  those  who  had  been  in  the 
kitchen  came  out,  and  Jim  could  see  from  the 
way  they  looked  that  they  hadn't  been  able  to 
agree.  His  mother's  face  was  whiter  and  more 
strained  than  ever;  and  the  light  in  the  old 
elder's  eyes  was  really  fierce.  The  show  people 
seemed  out  of  humor  and  they  went  off  by  them- 
selves and  began  cooking  their  dinner,  having 
nothing  to  do  with  the  mountain  folks.  Jim  had 
to  help  his  mother  with  her  dinner  then.  She 
was  asking  the  neighbors  to  share  with  her,  and 
the  women  all  turned  in  to  pare  potatoes  and 
mix  up  corn  bread  and  beat  up  eggs.  There 
was  a  busy  hour  or  two,  and  then  after  all  had 
eaten,  a  sort  of  quiet  settled  on  the  gathering. 
They  were  waiting  for  the  sun  to  slide  a  little 


NEW  FRIENDS  33 

further  over  the  mountain,  for  the  day  was  a 
very  hot  one  for  May.  It  gave  Jim  a  chance  to 
slip  around  from  place  to  place,  silent  as  a  lizard 
and  saying  nothing.  He  wanted  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  the  show  boy,  and  after  what 
seemed  a  long  time,  he  found  a  chance  to  speak 
to  him. 

"  If  you  want  to  come  with  me,"  he  said  in  his 
drawling,  pleasant  mountain  voice,  "  I'll  show 
you  my  mill  wheel." 

11  Did  you  make  it?  "  demanded  the  boy.  He 
was  a  queer,  black  little  creature,  who  looked 
as  if  he  had  been  carved  out  of  a  nut.  His  arms 
were  too  long  for  his  body,  but  they  were  so 
strong  that  he  could  "  chin  "  himself  on  the  low 
doorcasing  of  the  shed  without  any  trouble 
whatever.  Jim  had  already  discovered  that. 
He  had  seen  the  boy  hanging  out  on  a  long  tree 
limb  and  dropping  like  a  cat.  All  of  his  ways 
were  quick  and  sharp,  and  he  had  a  sly  look  like 
that  of  a  half-fed  hound.  Jim  never  had  seen  a 
boy  like  this  and  he  felt  shy  with  him.  But  for 
all  of  that,  he  was  determined  to  know  him. 

"  'Deed  and  I  made  the  wheel,"  he  said  to  the 
boy.    "  It  runs  right  smart,  too." 

"  How  far  away  is  it?  " 


34  AZALEA 

"  Just  down  by  the  second  waterfall.  We 
don't  need  to  go  'round  by  the  road.  We  can 
drop  right  down  the  face  of  the  rocks." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  boy. 

So  they  slid  down  the  sheer  drop  of  the  rocks 
till  they  came  to  a  place  where  the  mountain 
stream  widened  out  into  a  tiny  pool,  and  then, 
forced  once  more  into  a  trough-like  gorge, 
poured  on  over  the  face  of  the  rocks.  Here  Jim 
had  made  a  mill  wheel  on  which  he  had  worked 
many  a  day.  The  show  boy  looked  at  it 
admiringly. 

"  It's  a  right  smart  wheel,"  he  admitted.  He 
stopped  it  with  one  of  his  dark,  slender  fingers, 
and  then  started  it  again,  and  Jim's  tongue 
loosened,  and  he  told  him  about  all  the  other 
wheels  he  had  made,  and  why  this  was  better 
than  any  of  the  others. 

After  a  time  they  stuck  their  hot,  dusty  toes 
in  the  pool  and  sat  there  watching  the  world. 
The  sun  and  shadow  raced  over  the  vallev  be- 
low;  a  hawk  wheeled  above  their  heads;  little 
creatures  danced  over  the  face  of  the  pool. 

"What's  your  name,  please?"  asked  Jim. 

"  Hi  Kitchell." 

"  Mine's  Jim  McBirney." 


NEW  FRIENDS  35 


"  I  know  that  already." 

"  Are  your  folks  with  the  show." 

"  Sisson,  he's  my  uncle.     He  runs  the  show." 

"  Do  you  do  tricks." 

"  Yes,  lots  of  'em.  And  I  do  chores  —  do 
more  chores  than  tricks." 

"  Do  you  get  paid?  " 

"  Not  regular.  I  get  my  board  and  keep.  I 
wish  I  could  stay  home  with  ma,  and  get  some 
work  to  do  in  town.  There's  four  of  us,  and 
pa's  dead,  so  my  uncle,  he  said  he'd  take  me  off 
ma's  hands." 

"  I'd  like  to  go  with  a  show." 

"  Would  you?  "  cried  the  other.  His  nutlike 
face  seemed  to  grow  old,  and  he  looked  at  Jim 
from  under  his  long  lashes.  "  Would  you  like 
sleeping  out  in  the  rain,  picking  up  meals  here 
and  there,  and  going  on  day  after  day,  no  mat- 
ter how  you  feel?  If  the  old  folks  take  the 
notion,  that's  what  happens  to  a  fella.  And  then 
the  being  funny,  that's  the  worst.  I  hate  to  be 
funny  just  because  folks  have  paid  to  see  me 
that  a-way." 

"  That  girl,  is  she  funny?  " 

"  Funny?  "  The  dark  boy  puzzled  over  this 
quite   a  while.     "  I   don't  know   about   funny. 


36  AZALEA 

She's  queer!  Her  ma  was  queer  too.  Not  a 
bit  like  the  other  women.  She  was  good  to  me, 
and  taught  me  out  of  books  and  talked  to  me 
about  my  manners.  And  she  could  make  the 
people  listen  when  she  sang  or  danced,  you  bet!  " 

"  Does  that  girl  like  the  show?  " 

"  No,  I  reckon  not.  It's  no  place  for  a  nice 
girl  to  be.  But  they'll  keep  her.  The  people 
just  clap  and  clap  when  she  does  things,  she's  so 
'cute,  someway.  Those  other  women,  they're  no 
good.  It  would  make  you  sick  to  see  them  try- 
ing to  be  funny.  And  they're  always  wanting 
everybody  to  wait  on  'em.  I  tell  you  I'm  tired 
of  'em,  and  so's  Zalie,  I  expect.  She'll  just  be 
a  slave  to  them,  that's  what  she'll  be,  and  she'll 
never  get  a  good  word  out  of  'em  neither.  I 
wisht  she  could  stay  here  with  your  ma.  If  she 
could,  then  I'd  clear  out —  run  away  and  get  a 
place  in  a  mill  or  somewhere.  I  tell  you,  I 
don't  like  drinking  and  roaming.  It's  too  much 
like  being  a  tramp.  Good  folks  like  your  pa 
and  ma  don't  think  nothing  of  us,  I  can  see 
that.    And  I  —  I  don't  like  it  neither." 

He  wrinkled  up  his  narrow  forehead  in  a 
heavy  frown,  and  Jim  frowned  back  as  he  tried 
to  see  things  the  way  the  boy  was  seeing  them. 


NEW  FRIENDS  37 

He  thought  the  boy  very  clever,  and  he  knew 
that  what  he  said  was  true  about  the  difference 
between  people  like  his  father  and  mother,  and 
the  people  like  Sisson  and  his  companions. 

His  mind  seemed  to  go  on  sudden  little  jour- 
neys, and  to  show  him  pictures  of  the  wander- 
ing life  Hi  described,  and  of  his  own  safe  home 
life.  Then  the  faces  and  the  language  of  those 
men  and  women  with  the  show  helped  him  to 
understand.    He  began  to  feel  very  sorry  for  Hi. 

"  I  know  a  man  —  Rath  Rutherford  his  name 
is — who's  going  around  the  mountain  getting 
folks  to  go  down  and  work  in  the  cotton  mills 
at  Lee,"  he  said  after  a  time.  "  He'd  take  me 
if  my  folks  would  let  me  go,  and  I  reckon  he'd 
take  you  if  you  wanted." 

"  I  never  could  get  away  from  my  uncle  — 
unless  I  ran  away." 

"  And  hid,"  suggested  Jim. 

"  There  ain't  nobody  to  stand  by  me." 

"Yes  there  is  too!  I'll  stand  by  you  —  sure 
I  will." 

"  I  ran  away  once  and  got  caught  and  lam- 
basted for  it." 

"  You  wouldn't  get  caught  if  I  hid  you,"  de- 
clared Jim.    "  Besides,  you  and  me  could  fight." 


38  AZALEA 

They  fell  to  planning  what  they  would  do  if 
they  were  hidden  and  the  people  came  to  get 
them,  and  they  had  to  fight;  or  what  would  hap- 
pen if  they  came  across  a  wildcat  or  a  rattle- 
snake. They  got  very  well  acquainted,  and  were 
almost  ready  to  start  off  together  to  "  take  care 
of  themselves,"  as  Hi  put  it,  when  a  horn  was 
blown  from  somewhere  far  above  their  heads. 

"  That's  for  me,"  cried  Jim.  "  Come,  we 
must  go,"  and  forgetting  all  about  his  plan  for 
running  away,  he  began  scrambling  up  the  rocks 
toward  home. 

He  was  really  astonished  to  find  that  the  after- 
noon had  passed  and  that  the  people  were  cook- 
ing supper  within  and  without  the  house,  and 
he  learned  that  Elder  Mills  had  preached  the 
funeral  sermon  for  "  poor  Mis'  Knox  "  and  that 
there  was  a  fresh  mound  of  earth  beside  Molly's 
little  grave. 

A  wonderful  golden  light  lay  across  the 
higher  reaches  of  the  mountains,  and  below,  the 
valley  rested  in  deep  purple  shadow.  The  mar- 
tins were  snug  in  their  hanging  gourds  in  the 
crosstrees,  and  Jim  could  hear  them  making  lit- 
tle sleepy  noises.  It  seemed  so  sweet  there  at 
home  that  he  couldn't  bear  to  think  of  Hi  going 


NEW  FRIENDS  39 

on,  and  when  he  heard  the  boy's  uncle  swearing 
at  him  because  he  had  left  some  chores  undone, 
Jim  hated  Sisson.  He  thought  what  fun  he  and 
Hi  could  have  if  they  were  allowed  to  prowl 
about  and  cook  their  supper  together.  Jim 
knew  how  to  build  a  fire,  and  how  to  put  it  out. 
His  father  had  taught  him  to  take  care  of  the 
woods  and  to  keep  them  from  catching  fire. 
Now  he  came  to  think  of  it,  he  knew  a  great 
many  things  that  he  would  like  to  teach  Hi.  But 
he  had  to  go  in  the  house  to  his  supper,  and  he 
saw  Hi  being  jerked  along  roughly  by  the  arm 
and  heard  the  angry  words  his  uncle  said  to  him. 

Within  the  house,  Azalea  was  lying  on  the 
settle  in  his  mother's  clean  kitchen.  She  looked 
small  and  white-faced,  and  her  large  eyes,  which 
followed  Ma  McBirney  everywhere,  were  more 
than  ever  like  "  Job's  tears."  She  came  to  the 
table  when  Ma  McBirney  called  her,  but  she 
could  eat  nothing  —  only  drink  a  little  of  the 
warm  milk,  and  her  hand  trembled  so  that  she 
could  hardly  hold  the  cup  to  her  lips. 

And  neither  was  Ma  McBirney  eating.  Her 
face  was  white,  too,  and  her  eyes  full  of  trouble. 
Jim  knew  very  well  what  the  matter  was.  She 
couldn't  bear  to  have  this  nice  little  girl  go  awa^ 


40  AZALEA 

in  the  company  of  "  bad  folks  "  —  for  that  was 
how  Mary  McBirney  would  call  the  show  peo- 
ple. Almost  nothing  was  said  while  they  were 
at  the  table,  but  when  supper  was  over  Pa  Mc- 
Birney remarked: 

"  Me  and  you'll  wash  up  the  dishes  to-night, 
Jim." 

"  Ain't  ma  well?  "  Jim  asked. 

"  Ma's  well  enough,  but  she's  got  something 
better  to  do,"  was  all  the  answer  he  got.  Pa 
began  washing  the  dishes,  and  Jim  wondered 
why  it  was  that  he  made  such  a  noise  about  it. 
Jim  was  told  to  build  up  more  fire,  too,  which 
seemed  strange,  for  the  room  was  quite  warm 
enough.  But  he  did  as  he  was  told.  The  door 
stood  open  onto  the  porch-like  room,  but  no 
one  could  see  in  unless  he  came  up  on  the  porch, 
for  the  solid  wooden  window  shutters  had  been 
closed.  The  fire  set  up  a  great  crackling,  and 
that  and  the  rattling  of  the  dishes  made  it  seem 
as  if  a  great  deal  was  going  on  there  in  the 
room.  But,  really,  not  very  much  was  going  on, 
for  Ma  McBirney  and  Azalea  had  slipped  out 
of  the  back  door  and  had  not  come  back  again. 
Outside,  the  voices  of  the  men  and  the  stamping 


NEW  FRIENDS  41 

of  the  horses  could  be  heard,  and  by  and  by 
some  one  called: 

"  Hulloa  there!    Hulloa,  I  say!  " 

"Hulloa!"  answered  Jim's  father. 

"  We're  ready  to  go,"  called  the  other  voice. 

"  All  right,"  answered  Pa  McBirney.  "  I 
wish  you  luck." 

One  of  the  show  women  came  up  on  the 
porch  and  looked  in  the  door. 

"  We'll  take  that  girl  off  your  hands  now," 
she  said,  "  and  thank  you  for  your  trouble." 

"  No  trouble  at  all,  ma'am,"  said  pa  politely. 
"  A  pleasure,  ma'am." 

"  If  you'll  just  tell  me  where  she  is,"  Betty 
Bowen  went  on,  looking  into  the  room  and  see- 
ing no  one  there  but  Jim  and  his  father,  "  I'll 
go  for  her." 

"  It's  my  impression,"  said  pa  slowly,  "  that 
my  wife  and  the  girl  walked  on  down  the  moun- 
tain a  piece.  If  you'll  follow  the  road  maybe 
you'll  catch  up  with  'em.     Maybe." 

"See  here!"  said  Mrs.  Bowen  angrily.  "I 
want  that  there  girl  and  I  want  her  quick." 

"  It  don't  seem  as  if  we  did  anything  very 
quick  up  here,"  said  pa  gently.  "  It's  our  way 
to  take  our  time  about  things." 


42  AZALEA 

The  woman  looked  at  pa  and  her  face  turned 
red.  Then  she  said  some  things  that  Jim  won- 
dered at,  and  after  that  she  went  for  the  men. 
They  came  storming  back,  and  Sisson  wedged 
himself  in  the  doorway. 

"Where's  that  girl,  McBirney? "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  I  don't  seem  to  rightly  know,"  said  pa,  with 
his  slowest  drawl. 

"  Where's  your  old  woman,  then?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that,  neither." 

"  Where  one  is,  the  other  is,"  cried  the 
woman.  "  She's  stole  that  girl,  that's  what  she's 
done." 

"  She'd  have  hard  work  a-stealing  her,"  ob- 
jected Pa  McBirney,  "  when  she  don't  belong  to 
no  one." 

"  You'll  find  out  whether  she  belongs  to  any- 
one or  not,"  Sisson  cried,  shaking  his  fist  at  pa. 
"  You  can't  come  it  over  us  that  way.  We  told 
you  that  you  couldn't  have  the  girl  and  we  mean 
it." 

"  Well,"  said  pa  in  his  most  reasonable  voice, 
"  I  hain't  took  the  girl." 

"  Your  wife  has,  and  that's  the  same  thing. 


NEW  FRIENDS  43 

And  you'll  have  to  give  her  up  or  there'll  be 
trouble." 

"  What  my  wife  does  and  what  I  do  are  two 
different  things,"  pa  went  on  teasingly.  "  I'm 
telling  you  the  truth  when  I  say  I  don't  know 
where  them  women  folks  has  gone." 

Sisson  strode  into  the  room  at  that,  trembling 
with  rage,  and  as  he  did  so,  in  at  the  rear  door 
of  the  room  lounged  William  Sabin,  one  of  the 
mountaineers,  and  behind  him  Tom  Williams 
and  after  him  Dick  Bab.  Jim  thought  he  saw 
other  forms  looming  up  in  the  darkness  without. 

"  See  here,  sonny,"  whispered  Jim's  father  to 
him,  "  you  just  kind  o'  slip  out  of  that  there 
window  above  the  bench  till  we  get  this  little 
affair  settled  one  way  or  t'other."  And  Jim, 
seeing  that  his  father  meant  to  be  obeyed, 
jumped  on  the  wooden  bench,  loosed  the  catch 
of  the  board  shutter,  and  crawled  out  onto  the 
pile  of  saplings  that  was  stacked  against  the  outer 
wall.  He  could  hear  his  heart  beating,  and  he 
tried  not  to  think  what  might  happen  in  the  next 
few  minutes.  He  had  heard  of  quarrels  in 
mountain  cabins  that  ended  in  a  terrible  way. 
He  wished  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart  that  those 
show  people  had  never  come  near  them,   and 


44  AZALEA 

that  his  mother  had  never  seen  that  girl.  He 
could  hear  his  father's  voice  going  on  in  its 
pleasant  singsong  way. 

'  These  here  friends  of  mine,"  he  was  saying, 
"  thought  to  do  a  little  shooting  to-night.  We've 
been  put  about  by  some  spit  cats  hollering  at 
night,  and  we  thought  to  get  after  'em.  But  you 
mustn't  hurry  away  on  that  account.  There's 
lots  of  time  —  all  the  time  there  is  —  and  we'll 
see  you  down  the  mountain  a  piece  if  you  like." 

Jim  heard  Betty  Bowen  call: 

"  Come  along,  boys.  It  ain't  worth  it,"  and 
then  he  saw  Sisson  and  the  others  backing  out 
of  the  room.  They  got  on  their  wagons,  grumb- 
ling and  swearing  among  themselves,  while  the 
mountaineers  came  out  and  stood  watching 
them,  the  fire  gleaming  through  the  door  upon 
the  guns  they  had  brought  to  hunt  the  "  spit 
cats." 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  you'd  like 
our  company  for  a  piece?"  drawled  Pa  Mc- 
Birney  as  the  show  people  swung  their  lanterns 
beside  their  wagons  and  called  to  their  horses 
to  move  on. 

"  You  think  you're  mighty  smart,"  yelled  Sis- 
son.    "  But  you  wait!    Just  you  wait!  " 


NEW  FRIENDS  45 

"Kidnapper!"  sneered  one  of  the  women. 
"  And  your  woman  —  looked  too  good  to  be- 
lieve, she  did." 

"  There's  some  mighty  sharp  turns  on  the 
road,"  said  pa  politely.  "  And  maybe  me  and 
my  friends  had  best  see  you  on  the  way.  We've 
got  some  neighbors  'waiting  for  us  a  piece  on. 
I'd  best  whistle  for  'em,  I  reckon." 

But  if  he  whistled,  it  was  not  heard  for  the 
noise  as  the  wagons  went  rattling  down  the  road. 
For  a  long  time  Jim  could  hear  the  sound  of 
the  hoofs  and  the  squeak  of  the  breaks  and  the 
angry  voices  of  the  show  people. 

Meantime,  the  mountain  men  had  gone  back 
into  the  kitchen  and  lighted  their  pipes.  They 
seemed  to  have  but  little  to  say  to  each  other, 
and  Jim,  peeping  in  at  the  door,  was  startled  to 
see  each  man  lift  his  gun.  But  his  father  roared 
at  them  and  they  dropped  them  with  smiles. 

"  I've  got  to  know  where  ma  is,"  cried  Jim, 
running  to  his  father.  "  There  ain't  any  harm 
coming  to  ma,  is  there?  " 

"  Not  as  I  know  of,  son.  Your  ma's  a  smart 
woman  and  a  set  one.  When  she  wants  to  do  a 
thing  she  most  generally  does  it." 

"  But  where  is  she,  dad?" 


46  AZALEA 

"  That's  what  I  can't  pre-cisely  say,  son.  All 
I  know  is  she  didn't  mean  for  to  let  that  purty 
little  girl  go  off  with  them  wildcats.  She's  set 
her  heart  on  keeping  her  in  Molly's  place,  and 
we've  set  our  hearts  on  having  her.    That's  all." 

That  was  quite  all.  The  mountaineers  sat  so 
that  they  faced  the  two  open  doors  and  the  one 
open  window.  They  appeared  to  be  enjoying 
themselves  after  their  fashion.  Jim  looked  out 
at  the  dark  mountain  side  and  the  dense  forest, 
from  which  a  strange  whispering  as  of  a  thou- 
sand voices  seemed  to  come.  He  knew  that  wild 
creatures  lived  on  that  mountain,  and  that  terri- 
ble, sudden  storms  sometimes  arose  and  raged 
over  it.  He  knew,  too,  how  the  trails  crossed 
and  recrossed  each  other,  and  how  unfamiliar 
they  looked  in  the  night.  It  would  be  very  easy 
for  his  mother  to  lose  her  way,  for  she  kept  to 
the  house  much  more  than  most  of  the  women 
on  the  mountain.  He  kept  saying  to  himself 
over  and  over:  "  I  hope  she's  safe;  I  hope  she's 
safe."    And  aloud  he  said: 

"  While  we  was  about  it,  I  wisht  we'd  a-taken 
that  there  boy.     He  was  a  awful  smart  boy." 

"  Sho!  "  said  pa.    "  I  wisht  we  had,  too." 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  HIDING 

"  It's  only  a  little  way  farther  now,  dear.  I'm 
sure  it's  only  a  little  way." 

"A  little  way  to  where,  please  ma'am?" 
Azalea  gasped  the  question.  She  was  spent  with 
hard  climbing,  and  her  heart  pounded  in  her 
side.  The  steep  path  before  her  was  dark  and 
rough.  There  was  only  the  stars  and  a  small 
crescent  moon  to  give  them  light. 

"  I  wouldn't  dare  to  carry  a  lantern  —  not  to- 
night," Ma  McBirney  had  explained.  "  We'll 
have  to  find  our  way  in  the  dark  this  time." 

It  seemed  to  Azalea  that  it  was  hours  since 
they  began  "  finding  their  way."  They  had 
slipped  out  of  the  back  door  of  the  cabin  when 
the  people  were  at  their  supper,  had  crouched 
and  crept  along  the  path  past  the  spring  house 
and  taken  a  trail  that  ran  up  to  the  pine  grove. 
From  there  on  they  had  been  winding  this  way 
and  that,  always  climbing  and  climbing  till  the 
pain  in  the  girl's  side  was  almost  more  than  she 

47 


48  AZALEA 

could  stand.  Ma  McBirney  seemed  about 
ready  to  drop  too.  Azalea  could  hear  her  breath 
coming  almost  in  sobs.  Yet  she  pushed  on,  and 
when  Azalea  begged  her  to  rest  she  would  only 
say:  "In  a  little  while,  my  dear.  In  just  a 
little  while." 

It  began  to  thunder  far  off,  and  sheets  of 
lightning  threw  a  strange  pinkish  glow  over 
their  path  now  and  then. 

"  Don't  you  worry  none  about  that  there  light- 
ning," Ma  McBirney  said  to  the  girl  whose  hand 
she  held  so  tight  in  her  own  that  it  hurt.  "  It 
will  swing  off  around  the  mountain,  like  as  not. 
Anyway  we'll  be  there  before  it  comes." 

"Where,  please  ma'am?"  asked  Azalea 
again.  And  again  Ma  McBirney  did  not  an- 
swer, but  pressed  on  along  the  path. 

She  seemed  now  to  be  walking  on  the  very 
rim  of  a  great  bench,  and  Azalea  couldn't  help 
feeling  that  if  the  people  were  looking  for  them, 
they  could  see  them  standing  out  against  the  sky 
when  the  lightning  flashed  over  the  mountain. 
Perhaps  Ma  McBirney  feared  the  same  thing. 
At  any  rate,  she  stooped  over  almost  double  as 
she  walked.  She  could  not  hold  Azalea's  hand 
as  they  crept  along  this  narrow  path,  but  she 


IN  HIDING  49 

told  the  little  girl  to  hold  tight  to  her  skirt.  So 
they  went  on  in  the  rising  of  the  wind,  their  way 
lightened  by  the  increasing  flashes  of  lightning. 
Fortunately,  though,  they  were  walking  on 
ground  that  was  almost  level,  and  it  gave  their 
pounding  hearts  a  chance  to  quiet  a  little. 

Then,  suddenly,  Azalea  saw  looming  up  be- 
fore her  a  great  mass  of  rock. 

"Here  we  are!"  cried  Mrs.  McBirney.  She 
began  feeling  around  in  the  dark,  and  then,  a 
great  flash  of  lightning  showed  something  on 
the  rock  that  was  blacker  than  either  the  night 
or  the  stone. 

"Here  it  is!"  she  cried.  "Here's  the  way 
in!"  And  the  girl,  still  holding  onto  that 
motherly  skirt,  crept  after  Mary  McBirney 
through  an  opening  in  the  rock,  down  three  rude 
stairs,  along  a  dark,  damp  place  and  through 
another  narrower  opening.  Ma  McBirney 
struck  a  match  and  lit  a  little  lantern. 

"  Well,"  she  said.     "  Here  we  are!  " 

Azalea  looked  about  her.  Their  feet  rested 
on  bare  earth,  and  on  every  side  of  them  arose 
stone  walls.  From  them  hung  queer,  mouse- 
like creatures  and  horrid  spiders  and  long 
beetles.     Two  benches  of  stone  ran  along  the 


50  AZALEA 

side,  and  a  sort  of  fireplace  had  been  made  of 
broken  pieces  of  rock,  above  which  a  little  crack 
in  the  roof  served  as  chimney. 

"  We  ain't  the  first  that  has  hid  here,"  said 
Mrs.  McBirney  looking  around.  "  And  likely 
we  won't  be  the  last.  No  one  but  mountain  folk 
knows  about  this  place,  and  they  ain't  telling. 
Make  yourself  to  home  Azalea,  for  this  is  where 
we're  going  to  stay  till  them  friends  of  yours  is 
tired  of  looking  for  us." 

Azalea  drew  up  nearer  to  the  woman  and  hid 
her  face  against  her  bosom. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  you  little  poor 
thing?"  cried  Mrs.  McBirney.  "You're  not 
minding  a  few  little  bats  and  spiders,  be  you? 
I'll  get  them  out  in  no  time." 

"  No,  no!  "  almost  shrieked  the  girl.  "  Don't 
touch  them,  please!    They'll  fall  down  on  us! " 

"  Why,  what's  this  I  hear?  "  demanded  ma. 
"  A  girl  that's  been  plumb  up  against  all  kinds 
of  trouble,  getting  scared  at  a  few  little  beasties! 
You  ain't  seeming  no  ways  brave  to  me." 

"But  thousands  of  yellow  spiders,  ma'am! 
And  hundreds  of  bats!  All  above  our  heads, 
too.    I  hate  it!    I  just  hate  it." 

"  If  it  wasn't  for  the  storm,  dear,  we'd  lie  on 


IN  HIDING  51 

the  ground  outside,"  said  Mrs.  McBirney. 
"  But  there,  there!  It's  come,  you  see.  We've 
got  to  stay  here." 

As  she  spoke  the  wild  downpour  of  the  rain 
could  be  heard,  sweeping  along  over  the  moun- 
tain, and  the  next  instant  it  was  roaring  about 
them.  They  could  feel  the  spray  of  it  dashing 
in  from  the  outer  chamber  and  here  and  there 
through  crevices  in  the  rock  above  them.  They 
seemed  terribly  alone  there  on  that  mountain 
top  in  their  resounding  cavern,  and  Ma  Mc- 
Birney was  not  surprised  that  the  girl  who  had 
gone  through  such  fearful  experiences  that  day 
should  throw  herself  into  her  arms  and  weep. 
Mary  McBirney  held  her  close  and  soothed  her 
with  soft  pattings  and  caresses.  She  couldn't 
make  her  voice  heard  above  the  storm,  but  she 
knew  there  were  other  things  besides  words  with 
which  she  could  comfort  the  poor  child.  They 
were  both  very  tired.  Their  limbs  trembled 
from  the  long,  hard  climb  and  from  the  dread 
of  the  storm,  and  when  Ma  McBirney  spread 
her  great  circular  cape  on  the  ground  they  were 
glad  enough  to  lie  down  on  it.  They  covered 
themselves  with  it  too  —  even  their  heads,  and 


■ ■ 


52  AZALEA 

after  a  little  while,  with  the  storm  still  bellow- 
ing without,  they  fell  asleep. 

Jim  and  his  father  heard  the  uproar  and 
turned  in  their  beds  and  shivered.  In  fact,  Jim 
couldn't  stand  it  in  bed  alone,  but  crept  into  his 
father's  room. 

"  You  reckon  ma's  hid  somewhere  out  of 
this?  "  Jim  asked. 

"  Sure!  "  cried  pa,  drawing  Jim  into  bed  be- 
side him.  "Sure  she  is.  Her  and  that  there  girl 
is  as  dry  as  a  bone  somewhere,  sitting  laughing 
at  all  this  fuss  of  rain."  But  when  Jim  had 
fallen  asleep,  soothed  by  these  words,  Pa  Mc- 
Birney  got  up  and  walked  the  floor  until  morn- 
ing. Then  he  cooked  Jim's  breakfast  and  his 
own,  and  packed  a  basket  with  food. 

"  We-all  will  be  taking  a  little  stroll,"  he  said. 
"  Just  hand  me  down  my  rifle,  sonny.  Maybe 
we  might  see  something  we'd  like  for  dinner  on 
the  way." 

He  went  out  of  the  back  door,  bidding  Jim 
keep  close  beside  him,  and  looked  around  for 
quite  a  while  before  starting  on  the  up  trail; 
and  then  he  kept  away  from  the  wood  trail  and 
took  the  one  that  led  up  the  face  of  the  rocks  — 
one  wmich  no  one  but  a  mountaineer  could  find 


IN  HIDING  53 

or  follow.  His  footsteps  appeared  on  the 
freshly-washed  earth  only  as  far  as  the  spring. 
From  there  on,  there  was  no  trace  of  him  and 
his  boy,  and  anyone  who  came  looking  for  them 
would  indeed  have  hard  work  to  follow. 

"  There  was  talk  of  them  show  folks  setting 
up  the  merry-go-round  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
contraptions  down  there  at  Lee  to-day,"  said  pa. 
"  I  only  hope  they'll  do  it  and  not  go  turning 
their  attention  to  things  that  don't  concern  them." 

Once  or  twice  as  Jim  and  his  father  came  out 
upon  some  rocky  ledge  of  the  mountain  the  boy 
peered  down  into  the  valley  to  see  if  he  could 
catch  sight  of  tents  or  wagons,  but  all  below  them 
was  wrapped  in  a  wonderful  lilac  mist.  And 
anyway,  he  had  not  much  time  to  give  to  these 
matters.  He  was  thinking  of  where  his  mother 
would  be  found,  and  wondering  how  it  was  that 
his  father  kept  such  a  sure  course.  Not  an  idea 
of  where  his  mother  could  be  entered  the  boy's 
head,  but  he  knew  there  were  secret  hiding 
places  on  the  mountains,  of  which  children  were 
not  told,  and  he  was  right  in  thinking  that  his 
mother  had  gone  to  one  of  these. 

After  a  long  time  he  said: 

"Where  you  heading  for,  pa?" 


54  AZALEA 

"  Well,"  said  pa,  "  your  ma  thought  best  not 
to  tell  me  where  she  was  going.  She  wanted  me 
to  speak  up  truthful  and  say  I  didn't  know  her 
whereabouts.  But  it  wouldn't  take  many  guesses 
for  me  to  locate  her  in  Conscript  Den." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Jim,  staring  at  his 
father  with  open  eyes  and  mouth. 

"Well,  that's  a  place  that  all  the  old  folks 
about  here  knows  of  very  well.  It's  been  used 
by  a  good  many  one  time  and  another,  but  the 
first  time  I  know  of  its  being  used  was  when  old 
Colonel  Atherton  tried  to  conscript  a  lot  of 
young  men  down  there  in  Lee,  to  force  'em  to 
join  the  Southern  army  in  1862.  Some  of  these 
here  men  was  for  the  Union  and  they  didn't  take 
to  the  idea  of  fighting  with  the  South.  Any- 
way, I  don't  think  they  was  much  interested 
either  way.  They  just  wanted  to  be  left  alone 
to  work  their  little  farms  and  be  let  mind  their 
own  business.  But  they  didn't  believe  in  slavery. 
It  wasn't  in  'em  to  do  that.  They  was  liberty 
loving  people,  and  if  anything,  a  little  too  inde- 
pendent in  their  ways  for  their  own  good, 
maybe." 

"  Think  so?  "  said  Jim.  He  had  his  own  ideas 
about  independence. 


IN  HIDING  55 

"  So  twenty  young  men  that  was  conscripted 
run  up  here  and  hid,  and  slipped  down  the 
mountain  nights  and  got  food;  and  they  picked 
berries  and  stoned  rabbits  and  I  don't  know 
what  all.  But  even  so  they  didn't  have  much 
and  they  was  almost  skin  and  bone  when  the 
searchin'  party  found  them." 

"  And  when  they  found  'em,  what  did  they 
do?" 

Pa  seemed  not  to  have  heard  and  walked  on 
even  faster  than  he  had  been  walking,  which  was 
quite  unnecessary,  for  though  Jim  could  run 
along  like  a  squirrel,  he  was  almost  out  of  breath 
trying  to  keep  up  with  his  father.  Now,  how- 
ever, he  made  a  dash  and  caught  at  his  father's 
suspender. 

"  And  what  did  they  do  with  'em  dad?  " 

"  They  took  'em  down  to  Lee,  Jim,  and  stood 
'em  up  in  the  public  square  —  them  twenty 
young  chaps,  some  of  'em  not  more  than  eigh- 
teen—  and  their  old  neighbors  faced  up  there 
in  double  file  and  shot  'em  down." 

"What!"  cried  Jim. 

"  Had  to,  boy.  Had  to!  Military  law.  The 
old  colonel  made  'em." 

"Oh!" 


56  AZALEA 

"  Eut  that  finished  him.  He  lived  down  there 
in  that  big  shut-up  place  they  call  The  Shoals. 
You  know  it.  It  ain't  been  opened  in  your  day, 
but  it's  a  grand  old  house.  Well,  after  the  old 
colonel  had  made  the  people  do  the  thing  I 
told  you  about,  the  countryside  was  up  and 
buzzing  like  a  nest  of  hornets,  and  old  colonel, 
he  had  to  black  his  face  and  put  on  women's 
clothes  and  hike  out.  And  his  wife  went  back 
to  Alabama  where  she  come  from,  and  nobody 
heard  of  the  Athertons  any  more." 

"  And  are  there  any  folks  living  at  Lee  now 
that  did  the  shooting?  " 

Pa  McBirney  stopped  to  get  his  breath,  and 
he  looked  about  him  at  the  lovely  day,  at  the 
shining  woods  and  the  down-plunging  stream. 
Then  he  dropped  on  a  convenient  rock  and 
motioned  Jim  to  sit  beside  him. 

"  I'm  a-going  to  tell  you  something,  Jim,"  he 
said,  "  that  I  want  you  to  remember.  Us  moun- 
tain folks  has  got  a  bad  name  in  some  ways. 
Folks  say  we're  shiftless  —  some  of  us  —  and  re- 
vengeful. But  do  you  know  what  the  people 
down  at  Lee  done  after  old  Colonel  Atherton 
was  run  out?  They  got  together  and  they  took 
an  oath  never,  no  matter  what  come,  to  carry  on 


IN  HIDING  57 

the  story  of  that  dreadful  thing.  They  said  they 
wouldn't  speak  of  it  nor  hand  it  on  to  their  chil- 
dren, nor  wage  war  nor  nurse  hard  feelings.  So 
who  done  the  shooting  and  who  was  shot  is 
something  I  don't  know  and  don't  want  to  know. 
My  father  knew,  and  what  he  knew  turned  him 
old  before  his  time.  And  I  remember  hearing 
about  an  older  brother,  and  never  was  I  told 
about  his  end.  So  maybe  your  own  uncle  was 
one  of  them  poor  martyrs.  But  it  don't  matter 
now.  It's  all  healed  up,  like  the  hole  the  fire 
burned  in  that  there  chestnut.  It's  healed  up  in 
brotherly  love,  and  if  you  was  to  go  to  Lee  and 
ask  any  questions  about  that  there  rumpus,  you'd 
get  your  trouble  for  your  pains.  They'd  pre- 
tend they  didn't  know  what  you  was  talking 
about.  And  the  young  people,  they  don't  know 
any  more  about  it  than  just  that  it  happened, 
and  they've  married  and  intermarried,  till  them 
that  was  forced  to  be  slayers  and  them  that  was 
slain  have  their  names  passed  on  in  the  same 
family.  And  I'm  proud  of  it,  Jim,  and  want 
you  to  know  it,  and  to  say  to  folks,  when  they 
hold  out  that  we're  a  quarrelsome  people,  that 
we're  a  forgiving  people  too." 

Jim  didn't  answer.     He  sat  close  beside  his 


58  AZALEA 

father  for  a  while,  listening  to  the  gentle  sounds 
of  the  forest  and  the  falling  water.  And  then 
the  two  got  up  and  went  on. 

At  length,  amid  a  fine  grove  of  chestnuts,  Jim 
beheld  the  same  pile  of  rocks  that  had  loomed 
up  before  the  tired  eyes  of  Azalea  the  night  be- 
fore, and  he  followed  his  father  around  into  a 
cranny  of  them  and  saw  the  same  doorway  she 
had  seen. 

"  Mary,"  called  pa  softly.  "  Mary!  Be  you 
there!" 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  answer,  and  then, 
as  he  called  again,  a  frightened  voice  replied: 

"  Is  it  you,  Tom?  Have  you  got  a  light? 
My,  it's  dark  here,  and  we've  been  sleeping  till 
now." 

Jim  could  hardly  keep  from  whooping  with 
delight,  and  the  next  moment  he  and  his  father 
had  crept  through  the  first  half-open  chamber, 
into  the  dark  inner  one,  where  ma  and  Azalea 
sat  up  on  the  big  coat,  rubbing  their  eyes  and 
blinking  at  the  light  from  the  lantern  which 
ma  had  blown  out  as  they  lay  down  to  rest  the 
night  before,  and  which  pa  had  just  relighted. 

Jim  never  forgot  the  strange  look  of  every- 
thing:—  of  the  cave  with  its  rough  walls,  of  the 


IN  HIDING  59 

bats  and  spiders  and  beetles,  of  his  mother,  sit- 
ting there  on  the  ground,  all  bewildered  and 
strange-looking,  and  of  the  girl  who  clung  to 
her  and  shuddered. 

"  Get  out  of  here!  Get  out  of  here!  "  called 
Pa  McBirney  cheerily.  "  It's  a  fine  day  out- 
side." And  he  helped  his  wife  and  Azalea  to 
their  feet  and  led  them  outside. 

"Best  not  build  a  fire,"  he  said.  "We'll 
have  to  lie  low  a  day  or  two  till  them  show 
folks  get  out  of  the  way.  I  cooked  the  bacon 
before  I  come,  and  I  brought  the  coffee  in  a 
pail.  It  was  hot  when  I  started,  but  I  reckon 
it's  cold  enough  now.  But  here's  plenty  of  bis- 
cuit, and  a  jar  of  gooseberry  jam,  and  some  of 
them  star  cookies  and  some  hard-boiled  eggs 
and  a  few  radishes  and  some  cold  potatoes  —  " 

"My  goodness,  Thomas!"  cried  his  wife. 
"  Did  you  think  we  had  turned  into  wolves  be- 
cause we  was  living  in  a  den?  " 

"  Well  you  see,  Mary,  this  here  will  have 
to  last  you  all  of  to-day  and  perhaps  a  part  of 
to-morrow.  There's  no  telling  just  what  will 
happen.  I  might  be  penned  up  down  there, 
with  men  watching  me,  and  then  you'd  want 
a  little  stock  of  stuff  laid  bv." 


60  AZALEA 

Jim  had  moved  over  toward  Azalea,  and  now 
the  two  stood  side  by  side  staring  at  the  older 
people.  Pa  might  be  penned  up,  and  ma,  who 
was  hiding  in  a  den,  might  go  hungry!  Did 
such  things  really  happen?  Jim  turned  and 
gazed  at  the  girl,  and  he  couldn't  help  thinking 
how  pretty  she  was,  with  her  oval  face  and  her 
great  gray  eyes  and  her  long  braids  of  brown 
hair.  She  looked  as  if  she  could  run  as  well  as 
a  boy  and  ride  a  horse  as  well,  or  maybe  better. 
Suddenly  an  idea  came  to  him. 

"Say!"  he  burst  out.  "You're  glad  you're 
with  us,  ain't  you?  You  don't  wish  you'd  gone 
on  with  them  other  folks?  " 

"  Glad!  "  said  the  girl.  "  Of  course  I'm  glad. 
I  never  want  to  see  them  again  —  never,  never!  " 
Her  gray  eyes  turned  almost  black,  and  she 
straightened  her  thin  little  figure  till,  in  Jim's 
words,  she  was  like  a  ramrod. 

"  Peter!  "  thought  Jim.  "  I  wouldn't  like  to 
get  her  mad  at  me."  She  wouldn't  be  a  good 
one  to  tease,  Jim  made  up  his  mind.  Jim  saw 
that  his  mother  was  watching  the  girl,  too,  and 
he  knew  how  his  mother  hated  anything  like 
bad  temper  and  he  wondered  if  she  would  like 


IN  HIDING  61 

Azalea  as  well  when  she  saw  that  she  could  be 
"  peppery."    But  all  she  said  was : 

"  Azalea,  I  know  a  place  where  there's  a 
spring  of  water.  Pa's  brought  us  a  towel  and 
some  soap  and  a  comb.  We'll  go  down  to  the 
spring  and  make  ready  for  breakfast."  So  the 
two  went  off  together,  and  Jim  and  his  father 
spread  the  breakfast  out  on  a  sort  of  table-rock. 

Then  they  sat  down  to  their  breakfast,  and 
whether  it  was  the  strangeness  of  the  night  and 
the  wildness  of  the  place  and  the  beauty  of  the 
morning,  or  whether  it  was  fun  in  its  way,  being 
outlaws  and  in  hiding,  who  can  say?  But  as 
the  meal  went  on  they  began  to  laugh  and  talk 
as  they  seldom  did  even  when  there  was  com- 
pany; and  Azalea  couldn't  keep  from  laughing 
either.  There  was  something  hushed  and  sad 
about  her  face,  and  when  she  spoke,  her  voice 
had  a  break  in  it,  for  her  terrible  sorrow  lay 
heavily  upon  her  heart.  Yet,  as  she  had  said  to 
Ma  McBirney  the  night  before,  she  had  known 
for  a  long  time  that  her  mother  could  not  live, 
and  she  had  thought  how,  after  her  mother  was 
gone,  she  herself  must  go  on,  taking  the  rough 
treatment  the  show  men  had  given  her,  and  rid- 
ing bareback  on  those   poor  thin   horses,   and 


62  AZALEA 

doing  tricks  for  people  who  called  out  horrible 
things  to  her.  Now  she  felt  safe,  and  even  there 
in  that  wild  place,  more  at  home  perhaps  than 
she  ever  had  felt  before  in  her  life. 

After  a  time  Jim  and  his  father  went  away, 
but  not  before  they  had  gone  in  the  cave  and 
killed  or  driven  out  every  creature  in  it.  They 
made  a  sort  of  broom  right  on  the  spot  before 
Azalea's  astonished  eyes,  and  brushed  the  place 
and  cleaned  it;  and  pa  pried  back  a  big  stone  on 
top  and  let  the  sunlight  in.  And  then  he  asked 
ma  how  she  was  going  to  put  in  her  time. 

"Just  sitting  still,"  said  ma. 

"  I  never  saw  you  sit  still  yet,  Mary,"  said 
pa.    "  I  don't  believe  you  can  do  it." 

"  Yes  I  can,  Thomas.  Don't  you  worry.  I 
can  sit  and  sit  and  I'm  going  to.  It's  years  since 
I've  had  a  quiet  spell  and  it  looks  like  this  was 
my  time  to  take  it." 

"  Seeing's  believing,"  said  pa.  And  laughing 
and  telling  ma  not  to  worry  about  anything,  he 
and  Jim  turned  down  the  trail. 

"  Let's  get  nearer  the  waterfall,"  said  ma  to 
Azalea.  So  they  went  to  a  place  where  a  great 
flat  rock  ran  out  into  the  mountain  stream,  and 
here  they  sat  with  the  water  tossing  and  leaping 


IN  HIDING  63 

past  them  and  hurling  itself  over  the  side  of  the 
mountain.  Ma  lay  down  and  put  her  hands 
under  her  head  and  looked  straight  up  through 
the  branches  of  an  overhanging  beech,  into  the 
soft  blue  sky.  And  Azalea  pillowed  her  head 
on  her  arm  and  lay  there  too.  A  long  time 
passed  and  neither  spoke.  It  was  enough  to 
listen  to  the  voices  of  the  mountain,  to  watch 
the  sailing  of  the  clouds  and  the  winging  of  the 
birds.  But  after  a  time  ma  reached  out  and 
touched  Azalea  gently. 

"Little  girl,"  she  said,  "little  daughter!" 

"Ma'am?" 

"  I've  been  a-thinking  and  a-thinking,  and  it 
seems  to  me  it's  a  queer  world." 

"  Yes'm,  it  is,"  said  Azalea  as  if  she  too  had 
settled  that  fact  in  her  mind. 

"  Some  things  that  seem  wrong  is  right,  and 
some  that  everybody  —  or  almost  everybody  — 
says  is  right,  is  really,  when  you  come  down  to 
it,  plumb  wrong." 

"  I  reckon  that's  so,  ma'am." 

"Now,  me  taking  you  in  the  way  I  did  — 
grabbing  you  away  from  the  folks  you'd  known 
and  been  with  —  that  might  look  wrong.    But  it 


64  AZALEA 

ain't,  Azalea,  it  aint!  You  want  to  know  how 
I  know  it  ain't  wrong?  " 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  first  of  all  I  reasoned  it  out.  You 
was  better  in  a  house  than  on  the  road.  You 
was  better  living  where  you  could  go  to  school 
than  where  you'd  slave  for  people  who'd  give 
you  no  education.  You  was  better  with  people 
who'd  take  you  to  church  and  read  the  Script- 
ures to  you  than  with  people  who'd  swear  and 
curse  and  drink  and  gamble.  And  most  of  all, 
you  was  better  with  them  that  would  love  and 
cherish  you  than  with  them  that  would  just  use 
you,  and  perhaps  bring  you  to  some  harm  and 
turn  you  off  when  they  got  through  with  you." 

"Oh,  yes'm!  I  know,  ma'am.  I'm  thank- 
ful—" 

"  I  don't  want  you  bothering  to  be  thankful, 
Azalea.  I  just  want  you  to  be  loving.  But  I 
haven't  said  what  I  wanted  to  say.  It  ain't 
reason  that  tells  me  I've  done  right.  It's  some- 
thing else." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then  she  went 
on: 

"  It's  something  I  wouldn't  like  to  speak  of  to 
everyone,  Azalea.    But  you  see,  you're  going  to 


IN  HIDING  65 

take  Molly's  place  with  me,  and  I'm  going  to 
begin  right  away  treating  you  as  if  you  was 
her." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  now  this  thing  —  it's  like  a  little  bird 
singing  in  my  heart.  Ever  since  I  was  a  little 
girl,  times  would  come  when  that  little  bird 
would  begin  singing.  Maybe  'twould  be  a 
pretty  day  and  me  down  washing  clothes  at  the 
spring;  maybe  'twould  be  something  preacher 
said  in  church;  maybe  'twould  be  Jimmy  shout- 
ing and  hollering  out  in  the  woods,  or  his  pa 
coming  up  the  trail  and  letting  out  a  yell  to  tell 
me  he  was  on  the  way.  But  when  the  bird  sang 
best,  dear,  was  when  I'd  done  something  that 
I  knew  I  ought  to  do  and  that  it  was  hard  to  do. 
Now  it  was  hard  for  me  to  take  you  away  from 
those  folks,  for  I  don't  like  to  run  counter  to  no 
one.  I  like  friends  and  I  hate  foes,  and  I  had  to 
make  foes  of  them  people.  But  they  wouldn't 
listen  to  what  was  right  and  reasonable,  and  I 
had  to  do  the  way  I  done.  But  all  last  night 
when  we  was  climbing  the  trail  in  the  dark,  and 
when  the  storm  got  us,  and  when  we  lay  in  that 
filthy  den,  and  most  of  all  this  morning  when  I 
woke  up  and  found  you  there  beside  me,  the  bird 


66  AZALEA 

was  singing  in  my  heart.  It  sings  sweeter  than 
any  of  these  here  birds  round  about,  though 
they  sing  sweet  enough,  goodness  knows.  But 
it's  just  as  if  something  new  was  come  into 
the  world  —  it's  just  as  it  was  the  day  Jimmy 
was  born  and  lay  on  my  arm  and  I  knew  I  had 
a  little  son  of  my  own.  Why,  it's  just  the  way 
it  was  the  day  I  found  I  had  a  Saviour,  and 
learned  that  the  love  of  my  Heavenly  Father 
was  round  about  me,  and  that  I  could  walk  in 
it  and  fear  nothing.  Did  you  ever  feel  like  that, 
Azalea?" 

The  girl  turned  her  great  eyes  on  her. 

"  No'm,  I  don't  think  I  ever  did." 

"Well,  you  will,  Azalea,  you  will!  I'm  go- 
ing to  tell  you  all  about  that.  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  every  good  thing  I  know.  And  you  must 
tell  me  all  you  know,  too,  for  I'm  an  unschooled 
woman,  who's  worked  hard  and  not  seen  much. 
But  anyway,  even  for  me,  I  can  see  that  life  has 
trails  that  lead  up  the  mountain.  Don't  you  like 
to  be  here  on  the  mountain  top,  child?  " 

"  Oh,  I  do,  ma'am.  I  think  it's  the  most 
beautiful  place  I  ever  did  see!  " 

"  Well,  and  I  was  studying  about  your  poor 


IN  HIDING  67 

ma.  Just  think,  to-day  whatever  there  is  to 
know  over  beyond  life,  she's  knowing.  She  was 
brave,  wasn't  she,  and  kind?  " 

"  Yes'm,  Oh,  yes'm  —  good  to  folks  and  ani- 
mals and  everything." 

"  And  it  will  be  counted  to  her.  It's  just  got 
to  be.  She's  happy  and  safe  to-day;  but  maybe 
she  wouldn't  have  been  happy  if  she  couldn't 
have  known  you  was  safe,  too,  Azalea." 

"  Do  you  think  she  knows,  ma'am?  " 

"  I  think  she  knows!  I  can't  sit  here  on  this 
mountain  top  and  see  them  birds  winging  along 
and  hear  the  wind  blowing  and  the  water  sing- 
ing and  have  the  little  bird  singing  away  in  my 
heart  and  not  think  she  knows.  Someway,  it's 
like  two  and  two.  When  you  add  them  they 
make  four.  I  can't  explain  what  I  mean,  but 
I'm  trusting,  Azalea,  and  I'm  happy." 

Her  thin  face  shone  with  a  beautiful  light, 
and  the  eyes  she  turned  on  Azalea  were  full  of 
lovely  tears.  The  girl  crept  a  little  closer  to 
her  on  the  broad  rock.  The  long  day  passed  in 
silence,  to  the  humming  of  bees,  to  the  shifting 
of  shadows,  to  the  call  of  birds.  They  watched 
the  sun  set  and  the  stars  rise.    They  felt  the  dew 


68  AZALEA 

fall  on  their  hands,  and  saw  the  blackness  drop 
like  soft  veils.  Again  they  crept  into  their  den, 
this  time  quite  without  fear,  and  slept  in  each 
other's  arms. 


CHAPTER  IV 

NEW  CLOTHES 

It  was  about  sundown  and  Pa  McBirney  and 
Jim  were  sitting  on  the  porch  of  their  cabin, 
feeling  lonesome  and  deserted,  when  Dick  Bab, 
a  bachelor  who  had  a  house  about  halfway  be- 
tween the  McBirney  house  and  the  foot  of  the 
mountain,  came  driving  up  on  his  yellow  mule. 
He  grinned  when  he  saw  the  two  sitting  there, 
silent. 

"  Listening  to  the  whippoorwills?  "  he  asked 
teasingly. 

"  Nope,"  said  Pa  McBirney  shortly. 

"  Had  your  supper?  " 

"  Such  as  it  was." 

11  Suppose  you  wouldn't  have  minded  a  little 
set-to  with  them  there  show  folks,  would  ye?" 

"  Well,  if  they'd  come,  I  reckon  we-all 
wouldn't  have  run  away. 

"  Well,  the  neighbors  thought  I'd  better  ride 
up  and  let  you  know  that  there  won't  be  nothing 
doing.     They  was  all  hanging  around  looking 

69 


jo  AZALEA 

for  a  little  amusement  too.  In  fact  so  many  of 
them  came  down  to  see  what  kind  of  a  lay-out 
them  folks  had,  that  the  show  raked  in  a  good 
deal  of  money  —  more  than  they've  had  for  a 
long  time,  to  all  appearances.  Then  Elder 
Mills,  he  spoke  up  and  said  he  reckoned  they'd 
made  a  pretty  good  thing  out  of  this  commu- 
nity and  the  best  they  could  do  was  to  be 
a-moving  on.  He  said  so  emphatic.  And  the 
others  spoke  up  and  said  they  thought  so  too. 
So  that's  the  last  any  of  us  will  see  of  that  outfit. 
They've  packed  up  bag  and  baggage,  and  if  they 
had  any  idea  of  coming  up  here  and  making 
trouble  for  you  they  concealed  it  mighty  well. 
So  your  missus  may  as  well  come  out  of  hiding 
and  enjoy  the  comforts  of  her  own  rooftree 

"They  didn't  show  much  spirit,  did  they? 
asked  pa  in  rather  a  disappointed  voice. 

"  Not  much.  But  if  they'd  showed  more  you 
might  have  been  punctured  full  of  holes  by  this 
time.  I  reckon  it's  better  for  your  health  the 
way  it  is." 

"Like  as  not;  like  as  not,"  said  pa.  "You 
'light,  Dick,  and  spend  the  night.  Me  and  Jim's 
bunking  together,  so  you  can  sleep  in  Jim's  bed." 

"  I    reckon   you-all    are   wanting   ma,"    said 


11 


NEW  CLOTHES  71 

Dick.    And  this  time  pa  showed  no  resentment. 

"  I  reckon  we  be,"  he  admitted. 

So,  the  next  day,  about  noon,  down  the  steep 
trail  walked  Pa  McBirney  with  a  forked  stick 
in  his  hand.  Behind  him  came  ma,  who  had 
had  enough  of  "  sitting  "  and  was  ready  to  go 
to  work  again.  After  her  came  Azalea,  whose 
feet  seemed  fairly  to  touch  the  rocks  and  bound 
off  again,  and  whose  little  head  turned  this  way 
and  that  with  a  birdlike  way  of  trying  to  see  and 
hear  all  that  there  was  to  be  seen  and  heard. 
Last  of  all  came  Jim,  his  arms  full  of  laurel 
blossoms. 

"  Well,"  said  ma,  looking  in  at  the  door  of  the 
cabin,  "  If  this  here  place  don't  look  like  a  hurri- 
cane'd  struck  it!  Azalea,  you  and  me'll  have  to 
straighten  things  up.  We  can  change  our 
dresses  and  freshen  up  afterward." 

"  Being  a  girl's  hard  luck,"  thought  Jim. 
"  Me  and  pa  can  sit  on  the  front  porch  I  reckon, 
while  the  women  folks  tidy."  But  he  was  mis- 
taken. 

"  Here  you,  Jim,"  called  his  mother  in  her 
most  businesslike  tones,  "  bring  up  fresh  water 
from  the  spring.  Pa,  I'd  like  some  more  wood, 
please.    Azalea,  you  can  be  sweeping  out.    I'll 


72  AZALEA 

get  over  hot  water  for  the  dishes.  I  thought 
you  promised  me,  pa,  that  you'd  keep  the  dishes 
washed!  " 

"  Didn't  I  do  it  then?  "  said  pa  despairingly. 
"  I  washed  and  washed  and  Jim  wiped  and 
wiped  till  we  about  dropped." 

"  You  drop  pretty  easy,"  answered  ma.  But 
she  was  not  scolding.  Ma  didn't  waste  much 
time  in  scolding.  There  was  always  a  laugh  be- 
hind her  words  when  she  said  a  thing  like  that. 
Jim  felt  a  little  cast  down.  And  he  wondered 
if  the  new  girl  would  think  they  had  to  work 
like  that  all  the  time.  He  looked  at  her  to  see 
how  she  was  taking  it,  and  he  found  her  sweep- 
ing with  all  of  her  might.  True,  his  mother 
had  to  show  her  how  to  hold  the  broom  in  the 
right  way,  and  how  long  to  take  her  strokes,  but 
she  seemed  to  think  it  was  fine  to  be  able  to 
sweep  out,  and  it  came  over  Jim  that  up  to  now 
she  probably  hadn't  had  a  house  to  sweep,  and 
no  doubt  she  liked  it. 

But  all  the  work  seemed  worth  while  when, 
at  last,  they  sat  down  at  the  table  together.  Ma 
had  chopped  up  some  salt  pork  in  beaten  eggs, 
and  had  baked  some  potatoes  in  the  ashes,  and 
made  biscuit  and  a  custard  pie.     And  pa  had 


NEW  CLOTHES  73 

brought  in  some  fresh  radishes  and  mountain 
honey;  so  there  was  a  real  feast  for  them. 

"  This  is  lots  better  than  a  cave,"  Azalea  said 
shyly.  M  It's  lots  better  than  the  road  too."  She 
was  looking  very  odd  in  a  dress  of  ma's,  which 
was  worlds  too  wide  for  her,  and  which  they 
had  tied  in  with  an  old  blue  ribbon.  Her  pretty, 
birdlike  little  head  came  up  out  of  all  this  cotton 
stuff  like  the  head  of  a  frightened  chicken  out 
of  its  ruffled  feathers. 

"  We've  got  to  get  right  down  to  the  store, 
Azalea,"  said  ma  briskly,  "  and  buy  some  stuff 
to  sew  up  for  you.  I  can't  endure  to  have  you 
looking  that  a-way." 

"  Why,  ma,  couldn't  Molly's  clothes  be  fixed 
up  to  fit  Azalea?  There  might  be  some  chang- 
ing to  do,  but  you're  so  handy  you  could  manage 
that." 

"  I  ain't  got  a  stitch  of  Molly's  clothes  left," 
said  ma  rather  sharply.  "  What  do  you  think 
I'd  be  doing?  Letting  them  there  good  things 
lie  idle  when  they  was  needed  by  others?  Molly 
wouldn't  have  liked  me  to  do  a  thing  like  that, 
would  she?    I  gave  them  all  away." 

"  Well,  they  would  have  come  in  handy  now, 
ma.     Sometimes  I  think  you're  too  impulsive. 


74  AZALEA 


£\ 


You  just  go  and  do  whatever  comes  into  your 
head  to  do  right  off  quick." 

"  So  I  do,  Thomas;  so  I  do.  Soon  as  I  laid 
eyes  on  you  I  knew  you  was  the  man  I  wanted 
to  live  with  for  the  rest  of  my  natural  life,  and 
when  you  asked  me  to  marry  you  it  didn't  take 
me  a  quarter  of  a  second  to  say  yes.  Soon  as  I 
saw  Jimmy  there,  I  knew  he  was  the  baby  for 
me.  Of  course  he  really  was  mine,  and  I'd  'a' 
had  to  put  up  with  him  even  if  I  hadn't  liked 
the  kind  he  was;  but  it  turned  out  he  was  the 
kind  to  suit  me.  It  was  just  the  same  with 
Azalea  there.  The  minute  I  laid  eyes  on  her,  I 
yearned  over  her,  and  I  can  tell  just  as  well  as 
if  it  was  proved  to  me,  that  she's  going  to  be  a 
comfort  to  all  of  us.  Yes,  I'm  that  way,  Thomas, 
mighty  impulsive  and  quick-acting.  Now,  I've 
just  made  up  my  mind  that  to-morrow  we'll  all 
go  down  to  Lee  together  and  get  what  we  want 
for  Azalea  and  show  the  folks  what  a  united 
family  we  be." 

"  You  don't  want  to  go  flaunting  Azalea  in 
the  faces  of  folks,  do  you,  ma?  "  pa  protested. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I'd  use  the  word 
'  flaunting,'  pa,  if  I  was  in  your  place.  The 
folks  will  be  just  crazy  to  see  what  she's  like, 


NEW  CLOTHES  75 

and  after  the  stand  they  took,  hustling  them  show 
people  out  of  the  way  and  all,  and  maybe  saving 
your  life  by  doing  it,  I  think  the  least  we  can  do 
is  to  let  them  see  that  the  girl  was  worth  all  the 
trouble  they  took." 

"  Like  as  not;  like  as  not!  "  agreed  pa. 

That  ma  had  other  things  on  her  mind  was 
very  certain.  She  went  poking  over  chests  and 
drawers,  searching  for  something,  and  at  last 
she  came  on  some  undyed  homespun  cotton  of 
her  own  weaving.  She  sat  for  several  minutes 
with  this  on  her  knees,  looking  at  it.  At  last  she 
called  Azalea  to  her. 

"  I've  half  a  mind  to  use  that  there  blue  dye 
Mis'  Leiter  brought  over,  to  color  this  here,  so's 
I  can  run  up  a  dress  for  you,  Azalea.  I  can't 
have  you  go  down  to  town  looking  like  a  scare- 
crow, and  I  'clare  to  goodness,  I'm  prejudiced 
against  having  you  go  down  in  that  outgrown 
dress  you  had  on  when  I  saw  you  first.  Why, 
your  arms  and  legs  stuck  out  like  the  turkey  legs 
on  a  platter.  It  ain't  fitten  for  you  to  go  that 
way." 

"  It  does  seem  like  you  have  to  go  to  an  awful 
lot  of  trouble  for  me,  ma'am,"  murmured  the 


76  AZALEA 

girl.  "  And  anyway,  you  couldn't  get  that  done 
for  to-morrow." 

Ma  muttered  something  to  herself  which 
Azalea  could  not  catch,  and  the  next  minute 
Mrs.  McBirney  was  away  down  to  the  spring, 
building  a  fire,  putting  over  a  pot,  and  showing 
that  she  was  in  for  what  Jim  called  "  one  of  her 
spells." 

"  When  ma  has  a  spell  of  work,"  he  told 
Azalea,  "  nothing  in  this  world  can  stop  her." 

It  couldn't  have  been  more  than  an  hour  later 
that  the  good,  well-made  stuff,  dyed  a  rich,  dark 
blue,  was  whipping  on  the  line  in  the  wind.  An 
hour  after  that  it  was  pressed  and  ready  to  be 
cut  out;  and  before  Azalea  could  realize  what 
had  happened,  ma  was  fitting  the  waist  of  a  new 
dress  to  her. 

"  I  always  had  a  knack  of  snipping  things 
out,"  she  told  Azalea,  "  and  since  I  bought  that 
there  sewing  machine  with  my  egg  money,  I 
can  run  a  thing  up  in  no  time.  As  luck  will 
have  it,  I've  got  some  crocheted  edging  that 
will  look  well  on  the  neck  and  sleeves." 

A  minute  later  she  broke  out: 

"  See  here,  Azalea,  you  don't  want  hot,  tight 
sleeves  coming  down  to  your  wrist,  like  you  was 


NEW  CLOTHES  77 

an  old  woman!  I  keep  my  eyes  peeled  when  I 
go  down  to  Lee,  and  I  notice  them  girls  at  the 
hotel  wears  their  sleeves  about  up  to  their 
elbows.  I  don't  say  you  want  yours  hiked  up 
quite  that  high,  but  we'll  have  them  somewheres 
betwixt  and  between,  shan't  we?  " 

Azalea  nodded.  She  had  little  to  say.  She 
was  letting  all  the  comfort  of  being  there  soak 
into  her  as  rain  soaks  into  the  thirsty  earth. 

"  And  then  as  to  collars!  "  broke  in  ma.  "  I 
can't  bear  to  see  a  girl  with  a  nice,  round  little 
throat,  all  choked  up  in  a  collar.  I'll  cut  this 
neck  out  a  little,  to  give  you  a  chance  to  crook 
your  neck  around  like  a  young  owl  and  look  at 
the  world." 

And  then  the  machine  raced  along  over  the 
seams  and  hems,  and  the  scissors  snipped  at  raw 
edges,  and  ma's  needle  flew  in  and  out.  It  was 
left  to  Azalea  and  Jim  to  get  supper,  which  they 
did  well  enough. 

"  It'll  give  you  a  chance  to  learn  where  every- 
thing is,"  said  ma.  "  Jim,  you  show  her  the 
spring  house  and  the  dishes  and  everything." 

The  little  girl  had  cooked  over  a  camp  fire 
more  than  once,  but  she  had  never  before  set 
what    Ma   McBirney    called   "  a    nice    table." 


78  AZALEA 

However,  she  soon  found  out  the  way  that  the 
McBirneys  wanted  things  done,  and  meantime 
ma  sewed  on,  faster  and  faster.  Her  hair  got 
roughed  from  sitting  in  the  wind,  her  hands  were 
nervous  and  her  eyes  too  bright,  but  she  had  set 
her  mind  on  doing  that  particular  thing  and 
nothing  that  anyone  could  say  to  her  would 
stop  her.  She  was  at  the  buttonholes  when  the 
rest  of  the  family  crept  into  bed. 

"  Don't  you  do  any  worrying  about  me,"  she 
bade  them.  "  I'm  better  satisfied  than  I  ever 
thought  to  be  again." 

So  they  slept  —  Azalea  on  a  little  'knock- 
down '  that  would  have  to  serve  till  a  place  had 
been  properly  provided  for  her — and  when 
morning  came,  on  the  chair  lay  the  blue  frock 
with  its  handmade  edging,  as  simple  and  charm- 
ing a  little  gown  as  any  girl  in  the  country 
would  care  to  wear.  Moreover,  some  faded 
ribbons  had  been  dyed,  and  looked  almost  like 
new.  And  there  was  clean  underclothing  — 
not  quite  the  right  size,  to  be  sure  —  and  the  old 
shoes  had  been  polished  and  made  to  look  fit. 

But  if  Azalea  thought  that  everything  was  to 
be  done  for  her,  and  that  she  was  to  do  nothing 
in  return,  she  soon  found  out  that  she  was  wrong. 


NEW  CLOTHES  79 

Probably  no  such  idea  occurred  to  her,  for  she 
was  born  with  a  loving  heart,  and  she  had 
learned  to  serve.  She  was  not  surprised,  there- 
fore, when  she  found  that  all  of  the  family  got 
up  early  and  worked  hard.  There  were  the  ani- 
mals to  feed,  the  house  to  tidy,  the  water  to 
bring,  the  plants  to  water,  the  garden  to  weed. 
Nobody  hurried,  exactly,  but  ma  was  not  fond 
of  "  lazy  bones,"  and  she  kept  everyone  going 
till  all  was  as  it  should  be.  She  advised  pa  to 
drive  the  calf  down  to  the  butcher,  and  she  had 
a  basket  of  eggs  to  get  ready. 

But  at  last  all  was  done,  and  pa,  with  Jim 
beside  him,  sat  on  the  front  seat  of  the  wi  on, 
and  ma  and  Azalea  sat  in  the  back  seat,  all 
clean  and  fine,  ready  to  drive  down  the  moun- 
tain. The  little  calf  was  tied  on  behind.  The 
hounds  had  been  shut  up,  and  only  the  cat  saw 
them  ofT.  The  chickens  and  guinea  hens  and 
turkeys  could  be  heard  away  up  in  the  brush, 
but  they  concerned  themselves  very  little  with 
the  comings  and  goings  of  anyone.  The  mar- 
tins were  flying  in  and  out  of  the  high-swung 
gourds,  but  they  seemed  to  care  as  little  as  the 
ground  fowl.  Neither  did  the  little  old  house, 
basking  there  in  the  sun.  seem  to  mind.     And 


80  AZALEA 

the  graves  there,  under  the  Pride  of  India  trees 
—  they  minded  not  at  all. 

So  by  steep  and  pleasant  ways,  underneath  the 
chestnuts  and  the  hemlocks,  the  oaks  and  the 
mulberries,  the  tulip  trees  and  the  poplars,  the 
McBirneys,  four  in  number,  went  winding  on 
down,  down  the  road  toward  Lee. 

They  had  not  been  an  hour  on  their  way  be- 
fore something  curious  happened.  There  was  a 
rushing  in  the  bushes  beside  the  road  which 
startled  the  horses  and  made  Thomas  McBirney 
take  the  whip  out  of  its  socket  to  be  ready  for 
anything  that  might  arise.  And  the  queer  part 
of  it  was  that  the  creature  that  was  making  the 
noise,  was  running  along,  trying  to  keep  pace 
with  the  wagon. 

"  If  it  was  one  of  the  hounds  broken  loose,  it 
would  set  up  a  cry,"  said  pa.  "  And  it  ain't 
leaping  and  jumping  like  an  animal,  nohow." 

Azalea's  heart  beat  hard.  She  thought  that 
perhaps  it  was,  after  all,  a  wild  animal,  and  that 
maybe  they  would  be  attacked.  She  was  used 
to  being  on  the  road,  but  this  part  of  the  Blue 
Ridge  was  wilder  than  that  through  which  she 
usually  had  traveled.  However,  there  was  not 
much  time  in  which  to  be  frightened,  for  before 


NEW  CLOTHES  81 

any  one  could  realize  what  was  happening,  Jim 
had  leaped  over  the  wagon  wheel  and  plunged 
into  the  bushes. 

"  Hold  on  there,  boy,"  yelled  his  father. 
"  You  don't  know  what  you'll  be  running  into." 

A  shout  of  laughter  reached  him. 

"Well,  I'll  be  lammed!"  cried  Jim.  "  I'll 
be  shingled,  if  it  ain't  Hi!  " 

"High!"  cried  pa.  "How  high?  What 
high?    What  you  talking  about,  son?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  Hi!  it's  Hi!  "  Azalea  chorused,  and 
in  a  flash  she  too  was  over  the  wagon  wheel  and 
in  the  brush. 

Pa  turned  an  angry  face  around  on  his  wife. 

"  Be  them  two  children  crazy? "  he  de- 
manded. 

At  that  moment  three  children  instead  of  two 
shot  their  heads  up  above  the  dark  green  of  the 
wild  gooseberry  bushes.  There  was  Jim's 
freckled,  grinning  phiz,  Azalea's  long,  lovely 
face,  smiling,  too,  and  the  dark,  odd  little  face 
of  the  show  boy,  Hi  Kitchell. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  "  groaned 
pa. 

"  He  sneaked,  pa,"  Jim  explained  at  the  top 


82  AZALEA 

of  his  voice.  "  When  them  show  folks  lit  out, 
he  just  sneaked.    Wasn't  he  the  'cute  one?  " 

"  Goodness,  ma,  are  we  going  to  start  an 
orphan  asylum?"  pa  asked  under  his  breath. 

"  Might  do  worse,"  answered  ma. 

But  Hi  was  not  an  orphan,  but  a  young  man 
out  for  himself,  and  after  he  had  got  into  the 
wagon  with  the  others  and  all  were  rolling  once 
more  toward  Lee,  he  made  that  plain. 

"  I  went  straight  to  Mr.  Hitchcock  at  the 
mill,"  said  he,  "  and  told  him  I  wanted  to  go  to 
work.  He  said  he'd  take  me  on  next  Monday. 
Well,  that  was  all  right,  only  I  didn't  have  a 
cent  in  my  pocket,  but  I  someway  didn't  like  to 
/:ell  him  that.  So  I  went  down  town,  looking 
around,  and  the  funniest  thing  you  ever  heard 
of,  happened  to  me." 

"  What?  "  demanded  the  other  four  at  once. 

"  Well,  there  was  a  gentleman  come  riding  in 
on  horseback,  and  he  had  a  little  dog  with  him, 
a  terrier.  He  was  an  awful  cute  little  dog,  and 
when  the  man  went  in  the  post  office,  I  got  to 
playing  with  him.  The  puppy  didn't  know  a 
trick  —  not  a  trick.  Just  plain  ignorant,  he  was. 
The  man  was  in  the  office  a  long  time,  so  I  got 
to  teaching  that  dog  some  of  the  things  he  ought 


NEW  CLOTHES  83 

to  know,  and  by  and  by  the  man  come  out  and 
he  see  me,  and  he  said  I  was  giving  that  there 
dog  the  kind  of  schooling  he  ought  to  have." 

"Sho!"  said  pa. 

"  Then  he  up  and  asked  me  where  I  lived  and 
whose  boy  I  was,  and  I  told  him  the  whole 
story." 

"  That  was  right,"  said  ma  gently.  "  That 
was  just  what  you  ought  to  do,  Hi." 

"  And  that  gentleman  said  if  I  wanted  I  could 
come  up  to  his  house  and  sleep  in  the  barn,  and 
have  my  meals  at  the  house  till  I  got  my  first  pay 
from  the  mill,  all  for  teaching  his  dog  tricks.  So 
I  went  up  and  I've  been  staying  there." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  be  there  now,"  broke  in 
pa.    "  Not  so's  you  could  notice  it." 

"  Why,"  cried  the  boy,  "  I  had  to  come  and 
tell  you-all,  didn't  I?  I  thought  you-all  would 
be  wanting  to  know." 

"  We  do;  sure  we  do,"  ma  said,  reaching  for- 
ward to  pat  the  boy  on  the  shoulder.  "  Pa's  just 
as  glad  as  any  one,  Hi.  Don't  you  let  him  fool 
you,  the  way  he  speaks." 

"  No'em." 

"  I  don't  see  no  especial  reason  for  rejoicing 
that  a  poor  little  boy  is  going  to  be  shut  up  in 


84  AZALEA 

that  mill,"  growled  pa.  "  Hain't  I  heard  the 
whistles  blowing  at  five,  dark  mornings  and  all, 
rousting  them  young  uns  out  of  bed?  And  ain't 
I  seen  'em  trudging  home  after  dark  come?  All 
the  day  gone  by,  and  no  good  to  them !  No,  you 
don't  get  no  celebration  out  of  me  over  any  child 
or  chick  getting  in  that  there  mill!  " 

"  Now,  please  sir,"  broke  in  Hi,  in  a  kind  of 
free  way  he  had,  "  don't  you  worry  about  me 
none.  I'm  going  in  that  mill,  but  I  ain't  going 
to  stay  there  —  not  unless  I  like  it  mighty  well. 
I'm  going  to  get  on,  if  I  can.  I  want  to  get  back 
to  my  ma,  or  to  have  my  ma  and  the  kids  come 
here.  But  I'm  done  with  that  there  show  and 
that  Weary  Willie  way  of  living.  I  ain't  going 
to  trouble  you  none,  don't  you  think  it.  I  won't 
even  come  up  to  the  house  if  you  don't  want  me 
to.  But  I'm  thankful  to  you  for  what  you've 
done  for  Zalie,  and  for  what  you  done  for  her 
poor  ma,  and  it  just  come  natural  to  tell  you 
how  I  was  getting  on." 

"  What  made  you  run  along  in  them  there 
bushes  the  way  you  did?"  asked  pa.  "Why 
didn't  you  come  out  fair  and  square  and  holler 
at  us  and  let  us  know  who  you  was?  Why,  you 
like  to  scared  my  horses." 


NEW  CLOTHES  85 

Hi  was  usually  ready  with  an  answer,  but  now 
he  drooped. 

"  Can't  you  speak?  "  demanded  pa. 

"  Tell  us,  Hi,"  said  ma  gently. 

"  It  was  just  that  I  wanted  to  see  you-all  rid- 
ing along,  with  Zalie  setting  up  there  like  she'd 
been  born  in  the  family,"  Hi  explained,  blush- 
ing. "  It  done  me  good  to  think  that  there  she 
was,  with  nice  people  like  you,  and  her  every- 
body's slave  a  day  or  two  ago.  I  hadn't  ought 
to  have  done  it,  I  know.  But  honest,  I've  got 
in  some  sort  of  sneaking  way,  having  always  to 
dodge  and  hide  and  yarn  to  get  on  and  have  any 
peace." 

Pa  turned  on  Hi  almost  fiercely. 

"  See  here,  you,"  he  said,  "  don't  you  do  no 
more  hiding,  nor  sneaking,  nor  fibbing.  We-all 
are  friends  to  you,  understand?  You  come  up 
to  we-all's  house  like  it  was  your  own.  Stick  in 
the  mill  a  while.  It  won't  hurt  you.  Mr. 
Hitchcock's  a  good  man  —  good's  he  can  be,  I 
reckon.  You  spend  your  Sundays  with  us.  You 
can  meet  us  at  church  and  ride  up  with  us.  Ma, 
what's  happening  to  that  there  fool  calf?  Acts 
like  he  knowed  he  was  going  to  be  slaughtered, 


86  AZALEA 

don't  he?  Poor  little  critter!  Say,  ma,  you  do 
the  trading  to-day  —  you  and  Azalea.  Me  and 
Hi  and  Jim  will  walk  over  to  the  mill  and  have 
a  little  talk.  I  want  them  overseers  to  know  the 
boy's  got  his  friends." 

It  was  really  pa's  way  of  getting  out  of  facing 
his  curious  neighbors  at  the  stores.  But  ma  felt 
no  such  timidity.  Her  heart  swelled  with  pride 
as  Azalea  leaped,  light  as  a  kitten,  from  the 
wagon  and  turned  to  help  Mrs.  McBirney  down. 
Ma  nodded  right  and  left  to  the  people  gathered 
to  do  their  Saturday  "  trading,"  and  she  intro- 
duced Azalea,  in  her  gentle,  singing  voice,  to  the 
women  and  girls  who  came  up  to  meet  her. 

"  This  is  my  girl,"  she  would  say.  "  Azalea 
McBirney.  Come,  Azalea,  let's  go  in  and  see  if 
they  have  something  that'll  do  for  the  makings 
of  a  dress.  How'd  you  like  a  green  gingham  — 
pale  green  you  know?  And  that  there  white 
barred  stuff  ain't  but  fifteen  cents  a  yard.  How 
d'ye  do,  Mr.  Constance?  Pretty  day,  ain't  it? 
Do  you  reckon  you  could  take  these  here  eggs 
and  let  me  do  a  little  trading  with  you?  Yes, 
this  is  the  girl.  You  can  call  her  my  girl,  when 
you're  speaking  of  her.    I'd  like  to  get  her  out- 


NEW  CLOTHES  87 

fitted  here  at  your  place  if  you'd  be  so  kind,  Mr. 
Constance." 

Azalea   stood   facing   her   new  world,   so   to 
speak,  and  on  every  face  she  saw  welcome. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  SHOALS 

"Jim,"  cried  Azalea,  "my  room's  done  at 
last.    Come  see  it,  quick!  " 

"  I've  looked  at  that  room  and  looked  at  it.  I 
don't  believe  it's  any  different  from  what  it  was 
yesterday." 

"James  Stuart  McBirney,  it  is  too!  Ma's 
hung  a  blue  curtain  over  the  place  where  my 
clothes  hang,  and  she's  got  a  braided  rug  on  the 
floor  and  a  cheesecloth  curtain  at  the  window, 
and  she's  covered  my  stand  with  blue  and  white 
print.  The  way  she's  fixed  up  those  cones  and 
pine  leaves,  you'd  never  know  the  looking  glass 
was  broke.  It's  the  prettiest  room  I  ever  saw. 
Oh,  Jim,  do  come!  " 

Jim  pretended  that  he  wasn't  interested,  and 
stamped  up  the  new  stairs  his  father  had  built, 
and  along  the  platform  which  led  to  the  attic 
room  which  had  been  given  Azalea  for  her  own. 
Although  Jim  was  supposed  not  to  care  anything 
about  the  room,  he  had,  nevertheless,  braided  a 

88 


THE  SHOALS  89 

hammock  of  warp  such  as  his  mother  used  on 
her  loom,  and  this  hammock  had  been  swung 
out  on  the  platform.  Azalea  could  lie  there  and 
look  straight  up  the  mountain  side.  Jim  had 
helped,  too,  with  the  making  of  the  bedstead  and 
the  splint-bottomed  chairs  and  the  dresser,  and 
in  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  thought  it  was  just 
the  kind  of  a  room  Azalea  ought  to  have  —  she 
was  so  pretty  and  —  well,  Jim  couldn't  quite 
find  the  word  to  describe  her  —  but  she  re- 
minded him  of  a  pinky-white  trillium.  Not  that 
he  would  have  said  so.  He  treated  her  just  as 
if  she  had  been  his  own  sister,  and  that  means 
that  he  led  her  rather  a  hard  life  at  times.  But 
that  didn't  seem  to  bother  Azalea  at  all.  She 
would  do  anything  for  him,  and  she  could  tease 
back  when  she  had  a  mind  to,  and  when  he  "  got 
her  in  a  corner,"  as  he  put  it,  she  laughed  her 
ringing  laugh. 

"  Some  girls  would  get  mad  to  be  treated  the 
way  Jim  treats  Azalea,"  ma  used  to  say.  "  But 
she's  got  the  sweetest  disposition  of  anybody  I 
ever  saw." 

"  Not  too  sweet  to  hold  her  own,"  answered 
Thomas  McBirney.  "  At  first  I  thought  to  my- 
self, I'll  have  to  pitch  in  and  take  that  girl's  part, 


9o  AZALEA 

but  after  a  time  I  says  to  myself,  I  reckon  I'll 
leave  them  two  young  uns  to  take  care  of  their- 
selves." 

They  used  to  buy  each  other  to  do  things,  by 
promising  to  tell  stories.  If  Jim  wanted  Azalea 
to  help  him  gather  firewood,  he  offered  to  tell 
her  a  story  in  payment  for  her  help.  If  Azalea 
wanted  Jim  to  help  her  scrub  the  floor,  she 
promised  him  a  story  of  things  that  had  hap- 
pened to  her  when  she  was  "  on  the  road."  One 
day  Jim  told  Azalea  the  story  his  father  had 
told  him  that  day  on  the  mountain,  about  the  old 
Atherton  mansion,  and  how  it  had  stood  vacant 
for  years  and  years,  with  the  swallows  flying  in 
and  out  its  chimneys,  and  the  snakes  and  squir- 
rels and  birds  having  their  way  with  it. 

"  There's  snakes  in  the  grass  and  bats  in  the 
porches  and  wild  doves  in  the  barn,"  said  Jim. 
"  A  boy  I  know  told  me  about  it.  He  says  you 
can't  count  the  squirrels  and  the  catbirds  and 
the  robins  and  the  thrushes.  Some  think  it's 
haunted,  but  I  don't  reckon  there's  much  in  that 
story.    I'm  not  long  on  ghosts." 

"  It  might  have  a  ghost,"  said  Azalea  wist- 
fully. "  Anyway,  I'd  like  to  see  it  —  the  house, 
I  mean.     Oh,  Jimmy,  I'd  just  love  to  see  it! 


THE  SHOALS  91 

Let's  ask  ma  if  we-all  can't  go  picnicking  down 
there." 

Ma  was  doubtful.  She  said  she'd  fooled 
away  altogether  too  much  time  lately  —  that 
she'd  never  been  so  lazy.  But  at  this  her  whole 
family  laughed  so,  for  they  almost  never  caught 
her  for  a  moment  idle,  that  she  gave  in  and 
agreed  to  go  the  next  Saturday. 

"  Pa'll  be  driving  to  town,  and  we-all  will  go 
along.  We  can  get  out  at  the  Old  Green  Place 
and  cut  off  across  to  the  Atherton  Place  and  eat 
our  lunch  there,  and  then  pa,  he  can  meet  us  at 
the  Green  Place  again  on  the  way  home. 

"  The  road  to  town  used  to  run  by  the  Ather- 
ton house,"  pa  said.  "  But  it  did  seem  as  if  it 
picked  up  every  hill  in  the  whole  county,  and 
now  that  the  road  ain't  been  taken  care  of  for  a 
dozen  years,  it's  just  a  pesky  lot  of  sink  holes. 
Why,  it's  as  much  as  a  horse's  life  is  worth  to 
take  it  over  that  there  road." 

Saturday  morning  came  with  the  bluest  of 
skies.  Little  soft  white  clouds  floated  over  it 
like  happy  ships  on  a  sea;  and  the  wind  was 
playful,  too,  and  the  sunshine  friendly.  The 
four  got  off  very  early  and  rattled  down  the 
mountain  side  in  a  manner  to  take  the  breath 


92  AZALEA 

away  from  anyone  who  had  not  perfect  confi- 
dence in  Pa  McBirney's  driving. 

At  last  the  "  Old  Green  Place  "  was  reached, 
and  ma  prepared  to  get  out  with  the  children. 
But  pa  objected. 

"  See  here,  I  don't  think  this  is  a  fair  deal, 
ma,"  he  said.  "Me  going  off  all  by  myself, 
eating  my  lunch  alone  in  this  tarnation  old 
wagon,  and  you  three  picnicking!  You  come 
along  with  me,  ma.  I'm  not  fit  to  do  trading  by 
myself.    You  know  you've  often  said  that." 

Ma  made  a  face  at  him,  for  she  knew  he  had 
her  there,  but  she  really  did  think  it  rather  dull 
for  pa  to  drive  on  alone  seven  miles  to  town,  and 
so,  after  she  had  made  the  children  promise  that 
they  would  be  careful  about  this,  that  and  the 
other  thing,  and  be  at  the  Green  Place  in  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,  she  went  on  to  Lee 
with  pa. 

The  two  children  turned  their  faces  dowrn  an 
unknown  road,  overhung  with  great  chestnuts 
and  lindens,  and  cut  into  deep  gulleys  by  the 
rains.  The  way  looked  lonely  and  beautiful  and 
strange  and  Azalea  felt  her  heart  beating  a  little 
faster  than  usual.     She  was  just  going  to  say  to 


"She  ran  out  to  meet  me,"  he  cried. 


THE  SHOALS  93 

Jim  that  they'd  probably  get  lost,  when  some- 
thing ran  swiftly  across  their  path. 

aAn  adder!"  cried  Jim.  "A  gray  adderl 
That's  the  poisonest  snake  that  lives  anywhere 
here  about.  Don't  you  go  fooling  with  snakes 
like  that,  Zalie,  whatever  you  do.  Why,  once  I 
teased  a  gray  adder  till  he  got  so  mad  he  bit 
himself.    And  in  three  minutes  he  was  dead." 

"  Honest?  " 

"  Honest!  You  say  you're  sorry  for  snakes  — 
I  like  'em  to  kill!  —  but  don't  you  fool  none 
around  an  adder." 

"  You  didn't  try  to  kill  that  one." 

"  Well,  if  I  hadn't  been  going  for  a  good  time, 
I  would.  Somehow,  when  I'm  going  out  for  a 
good  time,  I  don't  like  to  begin  by  killing  some- 
thing." 

Azalea  laughed  lightly,  and  the  two  went  on 
along  the  shady  road.  Twice  they  crossed 
creeks  —  amber-colored,  rippling  streams  that 
sang  over  the  stones.  One  they  jumped  across; 
the  other  was  too  wide  for  that,  but  they  found 
a  narrow  swinging  bridge  a  little  way  upstream. 

"  Don't  it  seem  strange  to  think  that  there  used 
to  be   people   and   people   going  along  here," 


94  AZALEA 

mused  Azalea,  "  and  now  almost  no  one  comes 
here!" 

Jim  nodded.  He  hadn't  much  time  to  think 
about  things  like  that.  He  was  wondering  what 
he  would  find  at  the  Atherton  house. 

After  a  time  they  came  to  a  sunny  piece  of 
road,  and  along  the  side  a  clay  bank  punctured 
with  little  holes. 

"  Oh,  doodle  bug  holes !  "  cried  Jim.  "  Come, 
let's  get  the  doodle  bugs  out."  So  the  two  chil- 
dren got  down  on  their  knees  and  blew  into  the 
holes  where  the  bugs  lived  and  called  three 
times : 

"  Doodle  bug,  come  out  of  your  hole! " 

And  the  doodle  bugs  came  out  politely,  and 
ran  about  this  way  and  that  as  if  looking  for  the 
person  who  had  called  them. 

"  I  spose  we're  too  large  for  them  to  see,"  said 
Azalea. 

They  had  been  told  to  keep  their  lunch  until 
noon,  but  they  felt  so  hungry  —  at  least  Jim  did 
—  that  they  decided  to  eat  it  at  once.  So  they 
got  out  the  cold  biscuit  spread  with  honey  and 
the  bottle  of  milk  and  the  cornbread  sandwiches 
with  the  bacon  between  and  ate  it  all.  Not  a 
scrap  did  they  leave.  Then  they  took  a  long 
drink  of  spring  water  and  started  on  again. 


THE  SHOALS  95 

"  It's  about  ten  o'clock,"  said  Azalea.  "  By 
noon  we'll  be  hungry  again,  and  by  four  o'clock 
we'll  be  starved  to  death.  Pa  and  ma  will  come 
along  and  find  two  heaps  of  bones  at  the  Old 
Green  Place,  and  they'll  never  know  it's  us,  and 
they'll  go  up  the  mountain  weeping  and  gnash- 
ing their  teeth." 

Jim  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  think  of  so  many  things 
to  say,  Zalie.    I  can't  think  of  things  to  say." 

"  Then  take  me  along  with  you  wherever  you 
go,  Jimmy." 

"  All  right,"  said  he. 

At  last  they  got  in  sight  of  the  Atherton  estate. 
Jim  saw  it  first. 

"  Look  there!  Look  there!  "  he  cried.  "  Did 
you  ever  see  such  hedges?  " 

They  ran  through  the  trees,  then  along  beside 
the  great  hedge  as  far  as  the  gateway. 

"  Why,  the  gates  are  open,  ain't  they,  Jim?  ' 

"  Say,  they  are!  Now  what  do  you  think  of 
that?  Zalie,  there's  smoke  coming  out  of  the 
kitchen  chimney — and  the  grass  is  cut.  And, 
look  there,  a  man  is  painting  the  house." 

"  There's  folks  living  there,  Jim.  Maybe  it's 
ghosts  —  like  I  said." 


96  AZALEA 

"  No  it  ain't.  I  smell  the  paint.  And  that's 
old  man  Hendricks  doing  that  painting.  It 
wouldn't  be  right  to  holler  to  him,  would  it, 
Azalea?" 

"  The  folks  might  hear  you.  It's  queer  pa 
didn't  know  folks  had  moved  in." 

"  Well,  pa  ain't  been  to  town  for  three  weeks, 
and  anyway,  he  might  not  come  on  anybody  that 
would  tell  him.  Lots  of  rich  folks  comes  to 
Lee  now.  They  come  down  there  because  they 
think  it's  pretty.  That  don't  seem  much  of  a 
reason  for  coming  to  a  place,  does  it?  " 

"  Well,  I  reckon  that's  why  your  pa  and  ma 
stopped  away  up  on  Tennyson  mountain,  Jim. 
It  ain't  no  way  convenient  to  anything  —  just 
way  off  by  itself.  If  it  wasn't  that*they  stopped 
on  account  of  prettiness,  what  was  it?  " 

"  Pshaw!  Pa  wouldn't  stop  nowhere  for 
prettiness." 

"  I'll  bet  he  would!    I'll  just  bet  he  would." 

"  I  guess  I  know  pa  better  than  you  do,  Zalie. 
I've  known  him  years,  and  you've  known  him 
weeks." 

"  It  ain't  the  length  of  time  you  know  a  person 
that  counts,  Jim.  It's  the  looking  in  at  their 
hearts  and  the  understanding  of  them. 


?> 


THE  SHOALS  97 

"You  think  you're  pretty  smart,  don't  you? 
Knowing  my  pa  better  than  I  know  him!  " 

"Oh,  Jim,  see!    A  girl!" 

Their  little  pretense  at  quarreling  —  for  it 
was  only  a  pretense  —  was  stopped  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  little  girl  on  the  portico  of  the 
great  house. 

She  looked  quite  small  to  them  at  first,  stand- 
ing among  the  great  pillars  that  ran  up  the  front 
of  the  house,  but  as  she  walked  on  down  the  old 
brick  walk  toward  the  gateway,  they  saw  that 
she  was  almost  as  tall  as  Azalea,  and  quite  a 
little  heavier.  She  was  all  russet  brown  —  hair, 
eyes,  frock,  stockings  and  shoes,  and  in  her  arms 
she  carried  a  little  silky  dog  with  long  ears  and 
wistful,  bulging  eyes. 

"  We  ought  to  go  away,"  whispered  Azalea. 
"  We've  no  business  to  stand  staring  in  at  other 
folks's  yards  like  this.    It  ain't  polite." 

But  though  she  said  this,  she  did  not  move  an 
inch,  and  as  for  Jim,  he  stood  with  his  mouth 
open,  watching  that  girl  dance  down  the  long 
brick  walk  between  the  box  hedges. 

Suddenly  she  saw  the  children  and  stopped. 
Her  eyes  rested  on  Jim  a  moment  and  she  seemed 
to  smile  at  his  kind,  freckled,  jolly  phiz.    Then 


98  AZALEA 

she  saw  Azalea  and  the  look  in  her  face  changed 
to  one  of  deeper  interest.  Azalea,  standing 
slender  and  straight  there  in  her  clean  blue 
frock,  with  her  gray  eyes  shining  and  her  long 
hair  beautifully  braided,  certainly  was  good  to 
look  at.  So  the  girl  came  on,  not  dancing  now, 
but  hastening  along  as  if  bent  on  business. 

"  How  do  you  do?  "  she  said  sweetly,  blushing 
a  little  with  shyness. 

"  I'm  very  well,  thank  you,"  said  Azalea. 
"  How  are  you?  " 

Jim  made  a  noise  in  his  throat  to  show  that  he 
meant  well,  but  no  one  could  tell  what  words  he 
was  trying  to  say. 

"Do  you  live  near  here?"  the  little  girl  in- 
quired. 

Jim  pointed  over  his  shoulder. 

"  We  come  from  up  mountain." 

"You're  not  brother  and  sister!"  exclaimed 
the  girl. 

Jim  wondered  what  Azalea  would  say.  He 
was  very  proud  of  her.  She  seemed  to  him  like 
a  humming  bird  that  had  come  to  live  among 
wrens,  and  he  wondered  if  she  would  be 
ashamed  of  him?  He  was  a  happy  boy,  who 
wasted  no  time  in  thinking  about  uncomfortable 


THE  SHOALS  99 

things,  but  now,  suddenly  it  came  over  him  that 
he  was  rather  a  stupid  chap,  with  trousers  that 
were  too  long  for  him,  and  a  waist  that  was  too 
short  in  the  sleeves,  and  bare  feet  and  a  freckled 
face.  Azalea's  clothes  were  new,  and  anyway, 
his  mother  knew  much  more  about  dressing 
girls  than  she  did  about  dressing  boys.  And 
then  no  matter  how  he  dressed  or  how  he  tried 
he  never  could  look  like  Azalea! 

She  was  speaking  now,  and  he  put  aside  his 
thoughts  to  listen. 

"Jim's  father  and  mother  took  me  in,"  she 
was  saying  softly,  "  and  they  treat  me  like  I  was 
their  own.  My  mother  died  just  a  little  while 
ago,  and  my  father  —  well,  I  never  saw  him  at 
all  —  and  now  I  say  my  name  is  McBirney,  just 
like  Jim's.  He's  James  Stuart  McBirney.  I'm 
Azalea  —  they  let  me  be  called  Azalea  Mc- 
Birney." 

It  was  beautifully  done  —  lovingly  done.  Her 
pleasant  voice  caressed  the  words,  her  gratitude 
put  a  little  dew  into  her  eyes.  The  other  girl 
stood  listening  and  looking  and  "  Oh!  "  she  said. 
Then  she  looked  at  Jim  and  smiled  and  said 
"  Oh,"  once  more.  And  after  that  she  mur- 
mured, "Azalea!     How  pretty!     My  name  is 


ico  AZALEA 

Carin  Carson,  and  we've  just  moved  here.  I 
don't  know  anyone  and  I'm  dreadfully  lone- 
some. Couldn't  you  come  in  and  play  for  a  little 
while?" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Azalea,  "  I  s'pose  we 
could.  We  really  came  down  here  to  see  this 
house,  but  we  didn't  know  anyone  was  living  in 
it.  We  thought  it  would  be  such  fun  to  see  a 
house  that  no  one  had  lived  in  for  years  and 
years." 

"Did  you?  Why,  so  did  I.  And  so  did  papa 
and  mamma.  It's  a  beautiful  old  house,  isn't  it? 
We  find  something  new  about  it  almost  every 
hour.  Why,  this  morning  what  do  you  think  we 
found?" 

The  children  shook  their  heads. 

"  A  secret  staircase!  Yes,  we  did.  It  runs  up 
from  a  sitting  room  in  that  far  wing  to  a  bed- 
room above.  There's  no  door  you  can  see  — 
only  panels  that  slide  in  the  wainscoting.  It's 
more  fun!    Wouldn't  you  like  to  see  it?  " 

"  I'd  just  love  to  see  it.  But  your  ma  —  would 
she  like  us  to  come  in?  I  don't  believe  I'd  like 
to  come  in  unless  your  ma  said  we  might." 

"Well,  you  are  particular,"  laughed  Carin. 
"  You  must  have  been  very  strictly  brought  up. 


THE  SHOALS  101 

I'll  go  ask  my  mamma,  if  you'll  wait  a  minute. 
Come  in  and  sit  on  this  bench." 

And  without  waiting  to  see  them  seated  under 
the  wide-branching  plane  tree,  she  sped  away 
up  the  walk.  Azalea  looked  after  her  rather 
gloomily.  What  would  this  nice  girl  say  if  she 
knew  that  Azalea  had  been  brought  up  with  a 
traveling  show  —  a  miserable  show,  with  coarse, 
profane  men  and  women  in  it?  And  then  she 
remembered,  how,  though  her  mother  was  one 
of  them,  and  always  seemed  to  want  to  stay  with 
them  and  was  frightened  if  any  people  from  the 
towns  tried  'to  know  her,  yet  her  mother  had 
been  different  from  the  others.  And  coarse  and 
mean  as  the  show  people  had  been,  they  were 
nevertheless  afraid  of  what  she  would  think  of 
them,  in  a  way;  and  Azalea  knew  that  no  unkind 
or  unlovely  word  ever  had  passed  her  lips.  She 
had  been  most  careful  about  her  daughter's  man- 
ner and  language,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Azalea 
knew  how  to  use  much  better  grammar  than  she 
usually  employed.  She  talked  carelessly  be- 
cause the  people  around  her  did  so,  and  because 
she  didn't  want  to  seem  a  bit  finer  than  dear  Pa 
and  Ma  McBirney.  Whatever  they  said,  some- 
how sounded  right  to  her. 


102 


AZALEA 


In  a  moment  or  two  Azalea  saw  Carin  coming 
back  with  a  tall,  slender  lady.  The  lady  was 
dressed  in  white  and  wore  a  white  scarf  that 
drifted  back  from  her  shoulders.  Even  her 
shoes  and  her  parasol  were  white. 

"  That's  the  ghost,  if  there  is  one,  I  reckon," 
whispered  Jim.  Azalea  arose  as  the  lady  drew 
near  and  bowed  politely,  and  Jim  did  the  same, 
because  he  saw  Azalea  doing  it.  The  lady  shook 
hands  with  them  when  Carin  had  introduced 
them,  and  talked  with  them  a  little  while. 

"  How  fortunate  it  is,"  she  said  in  a  fluty 
voice,  "  that  you  and  papa  and  I  bought  this 
house  before  Jim  and  his  sister  saw  it,  isn't  it? 
They'd  have  got  it  away  from  us  I'm  afraid." 
She  laughed  lightly  and  looked  down  at  them 
with  large,  warm  brown  eyes  like  her  daughter's. 
"  Well,"  she  went  on,  "  since  we  were  the  lucky 
ones,  Carin,  the  only  thing  we  can  do  is  to  show 
them  our  treasures."  And  she  led  the  way  back 
to  the  house.    Carin  gave  a  little  skip. 

"  Don't  you  think  she's  a  dear?  "  she  whis- 
pered to  Azalea.  "  She's  the  sweetest  mother  in 
the  world!" 

Azalea  had  a  vision  of  her  own  tired,  frail  lit- 
tle mother  in  her  silly  show  dresses,  smiling  and 


THE  SHOALS  103 

bowing  to  the  crowds  of  common  people  that 
came  to  hear  them,  and  she  shivered  as  if  a 
chilly  wind  had  blown  over  her.  Yet  her  mother 
might  have  looked  as  beautiful  as  this 
lady,  she  thought,  if  she  could  have  walked 
about  a  lovely  garden  with  a  scarf  like  a  cobweb 
floating  from  her  shoulders. 

They  were  taken  into  the  wide  hall  which  ran 
straight  through  the  house  and  showed  a  garden 
in  the  rear,  where  a  fountain  played;  and 
through  the  long  drawing  room,  where  as  yet 
there  were  only  piles  of  heaped-up  furniture, 
then  into  a  gay  little  room  Mrs.  Carson  called 
the  morning  room,  where  bright  birds  were  pic- 
tured on  the  curtains  and  the  chair  backs;  and 
then  into  the  sitting  room  in  the  far  wing,  where 
servants  were  putting  hundreds  of  books  on  the 
shelves. 

"Let  me  show  them,  mother!"  cried  Carin, 
and  she  ran  forward  to  a  piece  of  the  high  panel- 
ing which  was  not  occupied  by  book  shelves,  and 
pushed  a  little  spring,  and  whish!  back  into  the 
casement  flew  the  door. 

"Look  up!  Look!"  said  Carin,  dancing 
about  in  her  delight.  Azalea  ran  forward  and 
looked  up  the  dark  narrow  stairs. 


104  AZALEA 

"  Who  do  you  see  coming  down?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Carson. 

"  A  tall  old  man,  with  stooped  shoulders  and 
a  dreadful  frown,"  said  Azalea. 

At  that,  Jim  looked  up. 

"  Why,  Zalie,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  see  anyone!  " 
Azalea  was  going  to  laugh,  but  she  saw  that 
Carin  and  Mrs.  Carson  didn't  laugh. 

"  It's  only  our  nonsense,  Jim,"  the  lady  said 
smilingly.    "  There  isn't  one  of  course." 

She  looked  at  her  two  visitors  for  a  moment. 
Jim  was  inquisitive.  He  wanted  to  know  all 
there  was  to  know\  He  was  out  gunning,  so  to 
speak,  for  facts.  Azalea  was  wandering  along 
hoping  to  meet  with  fancies.  She  was  the  one 
with  the  imagination. 

"  I  don't  know  which  I  like  best,"  thought 
Mrs.  Carson.  "  But  I'm  sure  they  make  a  good 
team."  Aloud  she  said:  "What  do  you  think 
of  lunch  in  the  garden?  Everyone  in  the  house 
save  us  is  as  busy  as  busy  as  can  be.  Shall  we 
get  our  own  lunch?  " 

So,  hardly  believing  that  it  could  all  be  true, 
Jim  and  his  sister  went  with  Mrs.  Carson  and 
Carin  into  the  great  cool  pantry  and  helped 
spread  the  thin  slices  of  bread,  and  to  cut  the 


THE  SHOALS  105 

cheese  and  dish  the  honey  and  slice  the  cold 
chicken.  And  then  they  sat  where  the  cucumber 
oleanders  shed  their  fragrance,  and  the  sound  of 
the  fountain  whispered  in  their  ears,  and  ate  and 
talked  and  laughed  together. 

Afterward  they  explored  the  garden  and  the 
barn  —  at  least  the  children  did  —  and  then  the 
hour  came  for  the  McBirneys  to  go. 

"  Could  I  see  your  mother?  "  asked  Azalea. 
"  Do  you  think  she's  resting?  " 

"  I'll  go  see,"  Carin  said.  Mrs.  Carson  came 
back  with  her  and  smiled  upon  the  children. 

"  Happy  days,  happy  days !  "  she  sighed.  "  It's 
nice  to  be  as  young  as  you  are." 

"  We  certainly  have  been  happy,  ma'am," 
Azalea  said.  "  You've  been  so  good  to  us,  and 
we're  just  strangers.  I  don't  see  how  you  could 
be  so  good  when  you  didn't  know  us  or 
anything." 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  lady,  "  A  few  years  ago 
something  happened  to  me  which  made  me  de- 
cide to  be  happy  whenever  I  had  the  chance,  and 
to  make  other  people  happy  in  the  same  way.  I 
saw  you  and  wanted  to  know  you.  Carin  wanted 
to  know  you.  You  wished  to  see  our  home.  It 
was  the  kind  of  a  home  you  would  have  picked 


106  AZALEA 

out  for  your  own  if  you  could.  It  was  the  merest 
accident  that  I  had  it  and  you  didn't.  Very  well, 
I've  shared  it  with  you.  See?  Come  again, 
come  again!  We  keep  open  doors  at  The 
Shoals." 

Azalea  got  away  somehow,  her  heart  dancing 
with  gratitude.  Jim  followed.  They  were  late, 
and  they  ran  along  the  uneven,  shady  road.  Pa 
and  Ma  McBirney  were  already  at  the  "  Old 
Green  Place,"  a  little  tired  of  waiting  but  very 
good-natured  notwithstanding.  So,  since  every- 
thing was  going  well  it  seemed  a  little  odd  that 
Azalea  should  put  her  head  down  in  Ma  Mc- 
Birney's  lap  and  softly  weep. 

Never  did  Alazea  love  this  dear  woman  more 
than  when  she  found  that  she  was  to  be  allowed 
to  weep  if  she  liked  without  being  asked  why. 
Mary  McBirney  stroked  the  soft  hair  and  said 
nothing  —  was  most  careful  in  fact,  not  to  call 
the  attention  of  Jim  and  his  father  to  her  out- 
burst. At  last  Azalea  lifted  her  face,  tear- 
stained  and  smiling. 

"  I've  been  so  happy,"  she  whispered.  "  When 
we  get  home  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  Every- 
thing seems  different." 

Jim  had  been  rattling  on  to  his  father  on  the 


THE  SHOALS  107 

front  seat,  and  Mrs.  McBirney,  who  had  man- 
aged to  catch  a  part  of  what  he  was  saying,  had 
some  idea  of  why  the  world  seemed  different. 
She,  herself,  thought  that  Azalea,  the  daughter 
of  the  wandering  show  woman,  was  really  meant 
for  a  beautiful  life  like  that  of  the  Carson's, 
rather  than  a  life  of  work  and  poverty  and  hard- 
ship like  her  own. 

"  But  I'll  give  her  what  I  can,"  she  thought. 
"  I'll  give  her  love." 


CHAPTER  VI 


GROWING  PAINS 

That  night  Mary  McBirney  carried  the 
candle  up  to  the  loft  for  Azalea  and  sat  beside 
her  while  she  undressed. 

"  I  reckon  you  feel  a  little  upset,  honey,"  she 
said  in  her  gentle,  motherly  way.  "You  saw 
them  grand  folks  with  their  fine  ways,  and  beau- 
tiful home,  and  nice  clothes,  and  it  made  you  feel 
you  wasn't  nobody.  I  know  just  how  you  feel. 
I  was  born  up  Blue  River  Valley  way,  and  till 
I  was  fifteen  I  didn't  see  nobody  but  folks  of  the 
same  kind  as  mine.  Then  two  ladies  came  driv- 
ing through  our  country,  writing  up  us  moun- 
tain people,  and  telling  all  about  the  mountains 
and  what  trees  and  flowers  was  on  'em,  and  they 
asked  me  to  go  along  to  do  the  cooking  for  them, 
and  shake  down  their  beds  for  'em  and  all  that. 
So  I  went,  and  set  up  on  the  front  seat  of  the 
carriage  with  the  driver,  and  I  heard  all  they 
had  to  say,  and  watched  their  way  of  doing 
things.    Well,  it  set  me  back  some.    I  found  out 

108 


GROWING  PAINS  109 

that  what  I  knew  wouldn't  fill  the  thimble  point 
of  their  knowing.  They  was  wearing  rough 
clothing  for  camping,  but  if  I  tried  all  my  days 
I  couldn't  make  clothes  look  like  that.  I 
wouldn't  know  how  to  buy  them  if  I  had  the 
money.  Me,  I  just  did  things  anyhow,  to  get 
them  done,  but  they  had  a  right  way  for  every- 
thing and  rules  about  how  to  act  in  every  kind 
of  case.  At  first  I  tried  to  catch  on  to  their  ways, 
but  at  last  I  saw  it  was  going  to  be  too  much  for 
me,  and  I  just  settled  down  to  be  content  in  my 
own  way  with  my  own  kind  of  folks.  But  my 
pillow  was  wet  many  a  night,  honey.  Growing 
pains,  they  were.    You're  having  them  now." 

"  And  so  is  Jim,  I  s'pose,"  sighed  the  girl. 
"  I  s'pose  he  feels  the  same  way  —  all  mixed  up." 

"  He  ain't  feeling  nothing  like  you  be,"  de- 
clared ma.  "Jim's  a  boy,  and  matter  of  fact. 
He's  a  leetle  older  than  you,  really,  but  not  near 
so  old  in  his  feelings.  Jim  saw  what  there  was 
to  see  on  top  —  saw  what  was  floating  along  the 
surface.  But  you  think  and  feel  in  a  different 
way,  and  your  feelings  go  down  deeper.  Now 
mind,  I  don't  say  that  I  think  they  always  will. 
Jim's  tender  and  he's  true,  and  when  men  are 
tender  and  true  they  feel  deeper  than  any  woman 


no  AZALEA 

can  feel.  At  least  no  woman  can  get  ahead  of 
them  that  way.  I'm  waiting  for  Jim  to  get  a 
little  older  before  his  feelings  set,  so  to  speak. 
Just  now  he  ain't  got  any  more  opinions  than  a 
nice  soft  bunny." 

"  Oh,  ma,"  cried  Azalea,  "  you  don't  really 
know  him  if  you  think  that!  Jim  does  a  lot  of 
thinking,  and  he's  as  tender-hearted  as  he  can 
be." 

Ma  McBirney  blew  out  the  candle  and  smiled 
to  herself  in  the  dark.  She  loved  to  hear  her 
Jimmy  praised.  But  he  had  seemed  a  little  dull 
and  backward  in  comparison  with  the  girl,  and 
in  her  silent  jealousy  for  her  boy,  she  had  spoken 
of  him  in  a  fault-finding  way.  It  healed  her  to 
hear  him  praised  in  that  warm  manner. 

"  We're  lucky  ones,  Thomas,"  she  said  when 
she  had  gone  downstairs,  "  to  have  two  children 
like  them.    They're  pure  gold." 

"  So  they  be,"  said  pa.    "  So  they  be!  " 

And  then  he  and  ma  walked  silently  out  to  the 
Pride  of  India  tree  beneath  which  their  Molly 
and  Azalea's  mother  were  buried,  and  stood 
there  a  few  minutes  before  they  closed  up  the 
house  for  the  night. 


GROWING  PAINS  in 

The  next  week  when  pa  went  to  town,  he 
brought  back  great  news. 

"  Them  there  Carsons  down  in  the  Atherton 
house,"  he  said  to  his  family  at  supper,  "  are  up 
to  the  greatest  things  you  ever  heard  of.  They're 
making  all  the  mountain  folks  welcome,  and 
buying  up  their  pieced  bedquilts  and  their  hand- 
weaving,  and  their  baskets  and  chairs.  Why, 
Mr.  Carson,  he  and  me  was  made  acquainted  by 
the  grocer,  and  he  asked  me  if  I  done  anything 
in  the  way  of  hand  work.  Well,  I  allowed  I 
made  pretty  good  chairs,  and  he  told  me  to  bring 
down  half  a  dozen  big  roomy  ones  for  his  porch. 
He  said  like  as  not  some  of  his  friends  would 
want  some  too.  Then  I  told  him  about  your 
weaving  and  he  said  he'd  like  to  drive  his  wife 
up  to  see  it.  Said  he'd  like  to  look  over  our 
place.  I'd  been  telling  him  how  sightly  it  was. 
They've  got  everybody  humping.  Cannaby's 
making  roads  for  him,  and  Fletcher's  making 
shoes,  and  he's  buying  up  fine  hens  —  wants 
some  of  my  guinea  hens  —  and  he's  looking  for 
a  good  cow,  and  I  don't  know  what  all.  I  ain't 
seen  things  so  lively  down  street  since  I  can 
recollect." 

"  If  he  comes  up,  he'll  bring  Miss   Carin, 


ii2  AZALEA 

won't  he?  Oh,  ma,  do  you  think  he'll  bring  Miss 
Carin?" 

"  Sure  he  will,"  said  Mary  McBirney.  "  She 
wouldn't  let  him  come  up  here  without  her  if 
she  had  her  way,  after  all  the  liking  she  took  to 
you." 

"  And  to  Jim,  ma.  She  liked  Jim  just  as  much 
as  she  did  me." 

"  Go  along,"  said  Jim,  "  she  wouldn't  'a' 
looked  at  me  if  you  hadn't  been  there,  Zalie." 

"  She  would  too!  What  makes  him  act  like 
that,  ma?" 

"  He's  naturally  modest  and  retiring,"  said 
pa  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  He  takes  after 
me." 

"  They  must  be  awful  good  folks,  them  Car- 
sons,"  said  ma  admiringly. 

"  They've  got  plenty  of  goodness,  but  they 
ain't  blessed  with  any  too  much  sense,"  remarked 
pa. 

"What  makes  you  think  that,  Thomas?" 

"  Well,  the  folks  was  telling  me  how  this  Mr. 
Carson  goes  riding  all  over  the  mountain  alone. 
He  don't  seem  to  have  no  idea  that  he  might 
stumble  on  something  it  would  be  best  for  him 
not  to  see.    Any  morning,  if  he  gets  up  early,  he 


GROWING  PAINS  113 

can  see  a  dozen  streams  of  smoke  rising  from 
the  mountain  side,  and  if  he's  got  the  sense  of  a 
mule,  he'll  know  that  there's  a  moonshine  still 
at  every  one  of  them  colyumns  of  smoke.  Any 
baby'd  know  that.  The  sensible  thing  for  folks 
to  do  in  this  part  of  the  country,  is  to  keep  to 
the  beaten  track,  and  not  to  go  too  far  on  that. 
Them  moonshiners  is  dreadful  sensitive.  They 
think  folks  is  prying  into  their  affairs  when  they 
ain't  no  such  intention  and  once  they  get  that 
idea  they  make  it  mighty  uncomfortable  for 
whoever  has  come  under  suspicion." 

"  You  ought  to  warn  him,  pa.  He  can't  know 
our  ways." 

"  They  ain't  my  ways,  I  tell  you  that!  Moon- 
shining  ways  ain't  my  ways,"  declared  pa. 

Azalea  didn't  entirely  understand  about  these 
11  moonshiners  "  as  they  were  called,  though  she 
had  heard  about  them  all  her  life.  Pa  explained 
to  her  that  they  were  people  who  made  crude 
whiskey  from  the  corn  and  sold  it  without  pay- 
ing the  government  the  tax  which  it  had  placed 
upon  liquor,  and  that  because  they  did  not  pay 
this  tax  they  had  to  make  their  whiskey  in  secret. 
The  officers  of  the  government  were  always  on 
the  outlook  for  them,  and  so  these  people  had 


u4  AZALEA 

to  keep  on  an  outlook  for  the  officers,  and  they 
were  liable  to  think  that  everyone  who  got 
anywhere  near  them  was  spying  on  them. 

"  On  the  face  of  it,"  said  pa  meditatively,  "  I 
suppose  it  don't  seem  so  bad  —  making  some- 
thing you  know  how  to  make  and  selling  it  to 
them  as  wants  to  buy,  without  saying  by-your- 
leave  to  no  one.  But  the  country  can't  be  run 
without  money,  and  one  of  the  ways  it  takes  to 
raise  money  is  by  placing  a  big  tax  on  liquor. 
As  for  me,  I  wouldn't  care  if  'twas  ten  times 
bigger  than  it  is.  It's  done  a  heap  more  harm 
than  good,  to  my  mind,  although  I'm  not  so  pig- 
headed as  to  deny  that  it  can  do  good  sometimes. 
But  it  ain't  just  the  making  and  selling  of  the 
whiskey  in  secret  that  hurts  these  moonshiners. 
It's  the  setting  themselves  against  the  law,  and 
getting  to  be  outlaws,  and  keeping  hate  and  fear 
and  suspicion  in  their  hearts  early  and  late,  and 
bringing  up  their  children  to  the  same  ideas. 
It's  a  wicked  thing,  Azalea,  and  it  brings  trouble 
beyond  measuring  to  the  folks  down  here." 

"  And  yet,"  said  ma,  "  I  know  some  moon- 
shiners who  are  very  pleasant  people." 

"  Sure!  "  cried  pa.    "  They'll  do  anything  for 
their  friends   and   they'll   stand  by  each   other 


GROWING  PAINS  115 

through  thick  and  thin.  And  you're  not  to  think 
that  they're  all  ignorant  and  unlearned.  Some 
of  them  is  smart  as  whips,  and  send  their  chil- 
dren away  to  school  and  take  books  out  of  the 
public  library  there  at  Lee.  I  could  mention 
some  not  an  hour's  ride  from  this  very  spot  who 
do  it.  And  I've  known  whole  communities  of 
moonshiners  to  be  converted  and  join  the  church 
and  turn  from  their  evil  ways,  and  they  make 
pretty  noisy  church  members,  most  of  them. 
It  seems  like  they  take  their  religion  hard.  I've 
heard  them  at  camp  meeting  and  they  was  doing 
more  hollering  and  shouting  than  all  the  rest 
put  together.  I  reckon  they  thought  the  Lord 
had  a  good  deal  to  forgive." 

"Why,  pa!"  murmured  Mrs.  McBirney. 
"How  you  talk!  And  before  the  children! 
But  now  you  can  see,  Azalea,  why  I  don't  want 
you  wandering  around  alone  on  these  mountains. 
You're  likely  to  run  into  one  of  them  stills  while 
they're  in  operation,  and  while  they  wouldn't 
do  any  harm  to  a  girl,  they'd  think  it  up  to  them 
to  give  her  a  dreadful  scare.  So  you  stick  to 
the  places  you  know  about.    You  hear?  " 

"  Yessum." 

Azalea  thought  about  the  moonshiners  a  good 


u6  AZALEA 

deal  after  this.  It  seemed  to  her  to  be  dreadful 
not  to  be  able  to  live  in  a  free  and  open  way. 
She  could  think  of  nothing  that  she  would  hate 
worse  than  having  to  hide,  or  to  be  forever  on 
the  watch.  In  the  old  days  when  she  had 
traveled  with  the  show  she  often  had  been  made 
to  feel  that  people  did  not  want  them  around. 
They  had,  in  a  way,  been  under  suspicion,  and 
houses  were  always  locked  up  more  carefully 
when  the  show  people  came  to  town.  Not  that 
there  was  any  need  of  it,  so  far  as  she  knew. 
They  had  not  been  thieves;  but  they  had  been 
careless  and  dirty  and  miserable  enough.  It  was 
very  different  from  the  life  she  was  leading 
now.  Pa  and  Ma  McBirney  could  look  any- 
body in  the  face.  They  would  go  out  from  their 
door,  smiling,  to  meet  the  people  driving  by,  and 
would  always  beg  them  to  stop  and  have  some 
spring  water  or  fresh  milk;  and  Jim  and  she 
were  proud  to  be  with  them.  Everyone  seemed 
to  like  the  McBirneys.  Everyone  thought  they 
were  good  —  and  Azalea  knew  they  were  and 
that  it  was  an  honor  for  her  to  bear  their  name. 
At  the  same  time,  Azalea  realized  that  she 
was  somehow  different  from  them.  For  exam- 
ple, ma  had  spoken  of  giving  up  trying  to  be  like 


GROWING  PAINS  117 

those  ladies  she  traveled  with.  When  she  found 
they  had  so  many  rules  and  ways  which  she 
couldn't  understand,  she  made  up  her  mind  not 
to  worry  about  all  of  these  strange  matters,  but 
to  be  contented  with  her  own  people  and  their 
manner  of  doing  things.  Now  Azalea  felt  sure 
that  she,  for  her  part,  would  not  have  given  up. 

"  I'd  have  learned  their  way  of  doing  things," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  I'd  have  found  out  about 
those  things  that  they  knew  and  I  didn't,  'deed 
I  would.  I  just  hate  to  have  folks  get  ahead  of 
me!  I'm  like  old  Nannie;  I  want  to  keep  up 
with  everything  on  the  road.  And  Jim  does  too, 
I  reckon.  I  hope  pa  and  ma  will  let  us  go  to 
school  when  it  opens,  though  Jim  says  it's  a 
dreadful  long  walk.  But  I  don't  mind  walking. 
Mercy,  if  anybody  knows  how  to  walk,  I'm  the 
person!  " 

It  was  the  very  next  Sunday  that  Azalea 
found  out  what  the  moonshiners  would  do  even 
to  a  person  they  were  not  much  afraid  of.  She 
had  gone  to  the  spring  house  early,  to  get  the 
cream  and  butter,  when  she  saw  some  one  dash- 
ing out  of  the  bushes.  It  was  a  boy,  but  it  took 
her  several  moments  to  find  out  that  it  was  some 
one  she  knew.    When  she  made  out  that  it  was 


n8  AZALEA 

her  old  friend  Hi  Ketchell  with  that  white  face 
and  those  frightened  eyes,  she  was  amazed. 

"Whatever  ails  you,  Hi?"  she  called,  run- 
ning toward  him.  "  You  haven't  been  bitten  by 
a  rattler  have  you?  " 

But  Hi  was  too  out  of  breath  to  answer  at  once, 
and  he  dropped  down  on  the  seat  by  the  spring 
house  while  Azalea  brought  him  a  glass  of 
water. 

"  It  was  men!"  he  managed  to  gasp  at  last. 
"  It  was  men,  Zalie.  They  was  going  to  kill  me, 
and  I  hadn't  done  no  manner  of  harm  to  them. 
I  was  walking  up  the  trail  —  for  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  be  here  in  time  for  breakfast,  since 
Mrs.  McBirney  had  asked  me  to  spend  the  day 
—  and  I  thought  I'd  take  some  short  cuts.  So 
plunk  I  went  up  the  mountain,  and  the  first 
thing  I  knowed,  I  had  run  plumb  into  a  whole 
gang  of  men  working  like  good  fellows  with  a 
fire  and  coils  of  pipe  and  kettles,  and  I  don't 
know  what  all.  Soon  as  my  eyes  lighted  on  to 
them  I  guessed  it  was  a  moonshiners'  still,  and  I 
tried  to  crawl  away  without  anybody's  seeing 
me.  But,  sir,  one  fellow,  he  caught  sight  of  me, 
and  he  grabbed  his  gun  and  started  after  me, 
and  two  others  grabbed  their  guns,  and  I  just 


GROWING  PAINS  119 

hiked  up  the  mountain  and  they  after  me.  Eut 
laws,  I  couldn't  run  with  them  fellows.  Seems 
as  if  their  legs  was  about  three  yards  long.  They 
got  me  in  no  time  and  they  stood  me  up  against 
a  tree  and  backed  off  and  pointed  their  guns  at 
me  and  told  me  if  I  didn't  promise  I'd  never, 
never  tell  on  them,  they'd  put  so  many  holes  into 
me  my  mother'd  think  I  was  a  sieve.  Well,  I 
give  my  word  I  wouldn't  tell  where  their  place 
was,  nor  anything  about  them,  and  they  let  me 
go,  but  they  said  if  I  wasn't  out  of  sight  in  two 
minutes  they'd  fire  anyway.  And  they  run  after 
me  a  ways  just  to  give  me  a  start." 

Fie  grinned  up  at  Azalea,  as  if  half  ashamed 
of  the  whole  affair,  and  she  laughed  back  at 
him,  reassuringly,  though  her  face  wras  rather 
white  too. 

"  But  you've  told  me,  Hi,"  she  said.  "  And 
you've  broken  your  promise." 

Hi  frowned. 

"  Zalie,"  he  said  sternly,  "  Don't  I  tell  you 
everything?  Besides,  you  don't  know  where 
their  place  is,  and  I  ain't  going  to  tell,  partly 
because  I  don't  want  to,  and  partly  because  I 
don't  know.  I  don't  see  how  I  ever  found  the 
way  here  at  all,  I  was  so  mixed  up.    And  what's 


1 20  AZALEA 

more,  I  don't  attach  no  importance  to  a  promise 
that's  wrung  out  of  a  fellow  like  that.  Of  course 
I  promised!  I  had  to.  But  that's  a  very  differ- 
ent thing  from  a  promise  you  give  on  your  honor. 
I  don't  want  you  to  think  I'd  break  a  promise, 
Zalie  —  not  a  fair  and  square  promise." 

"Oh,  Hi!  don't  I  know  you  wouldn't?  I'm 
only  teasing.  I  won't  say  a  word  about  it  to  any- 
one; but  it  shows  ma  was  right.  She  said  I  must 
keep  to  the  road  and  not  go  prowling  off  by  my- 
self.   How  are  you  getting  on,  Hi?  " 

u  Oh,  first-rate.  I  don't  like  being  shut  up  in 
the  mill  all  day  any  too  well,  of  course.  You 
see,  it  comes  hard  on  a  fellow  who's  been  used 
to  being  out  of  doors  early  and  late.  But  there's 
little  children  there,  Zalie  —  little,  little  chil- 
dren. It  makes  me  feel  dreadful  to  see  them. 
I  tell  you,  I'm  not  meaning  to  stay  there  long. 
I'm  looking  about  all  the  time  for  some  kind  of 
an  outdoor  job.  Mr.  Carson,  he's  got  me  to 
pulling  weeds  out  of  his  brick  walk.  I  have 
about  half  an  hour  after  work  and  before  it  gets 
dark  and  that  lets  me  do  quite  a  lot  at  the  Car- 
sons;  and  then  they  give  me  my  supper  there." 

"  But  that  makes  such  long  hours,  Hi," 
Azalea  protested.    "  You'll  wear  yourself  out." 


GROWING  PAINS  121 

"  No  I  won't,  Zalie.  Im  made  of  cast  iron. 
And  then  the  working  out  of  doors  sort  of  rests 
me.  It  gives  me  an  appetite  too.  And  I  tell 
you  what,  I  want  to  please  Mr.  Carson.  He's 
a  fine  man  to  work  for.  He  seems  to  kind  of 
notice  me,  and  I  think  maybe  I  can  get  took  on 
there  at  his  place." 

"  The  Carsons  are  like  that.  They  notice 
everybody.    They  even  noticed  Jim  and  me." 

"Why,  you  goose,  anybody  would  notice 
you!"  cried  Hi.  "Don't  you  know  that  yet? 
Jim's  a  mighty  pleasant-looking  boy  too.  Looks 
as  if  he  knew  which  end  he  was  standing  on,  all 
right." 

But  at  that  moment  Ma  McBirney's  voice, 
with  a  tone  of  impatience  in  it,  came  out  to 
them. 

"  Azalea,  child,  where  in  the  name  of  good- 
ness have  you  gone?  Don't  you  know  we're 
waiting  breakfast?  Hurry  up,  child,  do.  Pa 
has  just  made  up  his  mind  to  take  us  all  to  the 
Singing." 

"  The  Singing?  What's  the  Singing?  "  asked 
Azalea,  as  she  and  Hi  ran  toward  the  house  with 
the  butter  and  the  milk  in  their  hands. 

"  Don't  tell  me  you  don't  know  what  a  sing- 


122  AZALEA 

ing  is,"  said  pa.  Hi  and  Azalea  shook  their 
heads. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  pa,  "  nobody  is  to  tell  you, 
and  before  long  you'll  see  for  yourselves. 
Hustle  now,  we  ought  to  have  been  on  the  road 
by  this  time.  It  slipped  my  mind  this  was  the 
date,  till  the  Groggings  went  by  and  reminded 
me." 

"  My  goodness,"  sighed  ma,  "  I'm  glad  our 
best  dresses  are  fresh  ironed,  Azalea.  Here, 
everybody  pay  strict  attention  to  eating!  We've 
got  to  get  off  if  we're  to  take  any  part  in  the 
doings!  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  SINGING 

"  Say,"  said  Hi  as  he  and  Jim  washed  their 
faces  and  gave  an  extra  fine  brushing  to  their 
hair,  "  ain't  I  the  lucky  one  though,  going  off 
like  this  with  you-all?  I  don't  see  how  it 
comes  your  pa  and  ma  are  so  good  to  me  and 
Zalie." 

"  Comes  natural  to  them,"  growled  Jim, 
much  embarrassed  by  this  praise  of  the  persons 
he  loved  best.     "  They're  even  good  to  me." 

"  Get  out!  "  cried  Hi,  sprinkling  some  water 
on  Jim's  clean  waist. 

"  Here  you,  if  you  think  so  much  of  my  ma, 
what  are  you  spoiling  all  her  work  for? " 
shouted  Jim.  "  You  need  a  little  learning,  that's 
what  you  need!  " 

The  next  moment  the  two  boys  had  gripped 
and  were  rolling  on  the  floor  together.  Mrs. 
McBirney  heard  the  rumpus  and  came  running, 
but  her  gentle  voice  could  barely  make  itself 
heard  as  the  two  boys  threshed  around  on  the 

123 


124  AZALEA 

floor,  and  it  took  Thomas  McBirney's  strong 
hand  and  firm  voice  to  bring  them  to  their  feet 
again,  half  laughing  and  half  angry,  and  red  as 
turkey  cocks. 

"  A  likely  way  to  begin  the  Sabbath,"  pa  re- 
proved them.  "  Brush  yourselves  off  now,  and 
get  calmed  down  before  we  start.  It  will  be  a 
pleasant  sight,  seeing  you  two  standing  up 
hymn-singing,  after  the  way  you've  been  carry- 
ing on." 

However,  when  fifteen  minutes  later  the 
party  started  off  down  the  mountain  side,  the 
two  boys  looked  like  perfect  models.  Hi  was 
allowed  to  sit  on  the  front  seat  with  pa;  Jim, 
Azalea  and  Mrs.  McBirney  sat  behind.  Ma 
wore  her  one  white  dress  and  her  black  bonnet 
with  the  green  ribbon,  and  Azalea  had  on  her 
new  white  dress  with  the  cat  stitching  in  blue; 
and  her  white  hat  with  its  blue  ribbons  was  the 
very  hat  of  hats  for  her  to  wear.  Pa  McBirney 
felt  secretly  proud  of  his  family,  but  it  wouldn't 
have  been  his  way  to  give  them  a  notion  of  that. 
However,  ma,  who  knew  most  of  the  things  that 
pa  thought,  could  tell  that  he  was  well  pleased. 
He  showed  Hi  all  the  landmarks  —  the  little 
broken  branches  that  looked  like  two  birds  sit- 


THE  SINGING  125 

ting  side  by  side  on  a  gaunt  live-oak  limb  tiiat 
reached  over  their  path;  the  "  cannon,"  a  huge 
prone  log  which  had  once  fallen  across  the  road, 
and  had  been  sawed  in  such  a  manner  that  it 
looked  like  a  gigantic  gun  ready  to  be  fired  at 
them;  the  "  haunted  house  "  where  a  family  of 
white-faced,  queer  folk  lived,  who  ran  in  and 
drew  down  the  shades  when  they  saw  anyone 
coining;  and  the  "  spy  glass,"  a  curious  opening 
through  miles  of  woodland,  through  which  a 
person  could  look  down  the  mountain  side  and 
away  across  the  valley,  where  the  cotton  and  the 
corn  grew  in  their  rich  fields  and  the  silver 
streams  wound  in  and  out. 

"  I  tell  you,  we  that  live  in  a  place  like  this 
are  likely  to  forget  our  blessings,"  remarked 
Mr.  McBirney.  "  Every  way  you  turn,  it's 
sightly  and  a  comfort  to  the  eye.  If  I  had  to  live 
where  it  was  all  dirt  and  noise  and  folks  crowd- 
ing on  top  of  one  another,  seems  like  I'd  want  to 
die." 

"Wouldn't  you,  just!"  murmured  ma 
sympathetically. 

"  But  here  we  are,  of!  pleasuring,  on  as  pretty 
a  day  as  God  ever  dropped  down  on  his  foot- 
stool." 


126  AZALEA 

Ma  agreed  with  him,  and  began  to  "  tune  up," 
as  pa  put  it,  humming  under  her  breath.  She 
had  her  old  song  book  in  her  hand  —  the  book 
with  the  square  notes,  such  as  the  mountain 
people  always  used  at  their  "  singings."  She 
explained  to  Azalea  that  the  shape  of  the  notes 
indicated  their  names.  For  example,  no  matter 
what  key  "  do  "  might  be  in,  it  could  be  told  for 
"  do  "  by  its  shape.  "  Sol  "  would  have  another 
shape;  "re"  yet  another.  In  this  manner  no 
one  need  be  confused  by  four  or  even  six  sharps. 

"  And  it's  a  custom  with  us,  Azalea,"  she 
explained,  "to  sing  the  tune  through  by  note 
first.  After  we've  done  that,  and  everybody  has 
got  the  tune  fixed  in  his  head,  so  to  speak,  we  go 
through  and  sing  the  words." 

"  You'll  have  to  tell  Hi  about  the  singing," 
said  Azalea. 

"  It  seems  mighty  queer  to  me  how  you-all 
don't  know  about  singings,"  ma  replied.  "  It 
ain't  nothing  but  all  the  folks  getting  together 
and  singing.  They  do  it  once  a  year  you  know 
—  come  from  all  over  the  countryside.  There 
now,  look  yonder!  See  them  wagons  coming 
from  all  parts?  They're  all  off  for  Rutherford 
Plain  where  the  old  Friendly  Meeting  House 


THE  SINGING  127 

is.  That  was  built  before  the  war,  all  of  great 
oak  beams  and  boards,  and  it  don't  belong  to  no 
one  denomination,  but  folks  of  whatever  belief 
meet  there  and  give  praise  and  worship." 

"Ain't  it  nice?"  sighed  Azalea  contentedly. 
It  was  very  sweet  to  her  to  be  riding  along  there, 
the  daughter  of  people  who  were  so  much 
thought  of  as  the  McBirneys  —  she  who  had 
been  a  wanderer,  and  often  a  hungry,  neglected 
child,  in  clothes  she  was  ashamed  of,  and  the 
companion  of  people  she  had  been  unable  to 
respect.  Everyone  had  a  pleasant  word  for  Ma 
and  Pa  McBirney,  and  almost  everyone  seemed 
to  know  about  her  and  to  ask  if  she  was  their 
new  daughter.  They  said  they  were  pleased  to 
meet  her,  and  when  they  knew  about  Hi  —  and 
the  McBirneys  were  quick  to  tell  —  they  said 
they  were  pleased  to  meet  him  too,  and  that 
they'd  like  mighty  well  to  do  him  a  good  turn  if 
the  chance  offered.  There  was  so  much  talking 
of  this  kind  to  do,  that  after  all,  Hi  did  not  get 
his  description  of  the  singing,  and  it  was  only 
when  he  had  reached  the  grove  around  Friendly 
Church  that  he  began  to  understand  what  a 
happy  occasion  it  really  was. 

Wagons  by  the   twenties   stood  about,   their 


128  AZALEA 

horses  unhitched  and  tied  beneath  the  trees. 
Men,  women  and  children  were  gathered  in 
groups,  talking  and  laughing.  The  heavy 
barred  doors  of  the  old  church  were  swung 
wide,  and  the  ivy  and  crimson  creeper  peeped  in 
at  its  open  windows.  The  boys  helped  pa  un- 
hitch and  were  ready  when  the  deep-toned  bell 
sounded,  to  go  with  the  others  into  the  church. 

The  bare  yet  homely  interior  wTas  stained  a 
deep  reddish  brown  by  time,  and  the  wide- 
swung  casements  let  in  the  sky  of  the  fair  sum- 
mer day.  Elder  Miles  stood  in  the  pulpit  for  a 
few  minutes,  to  ask  a  blessing  on  the  gathering, 
and  then  a  hook-nosed,  slender,  restless  old  man 
with  a  voice  like  a  silver  trumpet  got  up  and 
called  for  volunteers  for  the  first  singing.  He 
said  he  thought  it  would  be  better  to  have  the 
middle-aged  folks  at  the  first  table,  so  to  speak, 
and  that  the  young  folks  could  wait  for  second 
helping. 

With  that,  men  and  women  arose  in  various 
parts  of  the  room  and  went  forward.  Their 
weather-colored,  work-worn  faces  were  lighted 
with  smiles  as  they  went  down  the  aisle,  nodding 
to  acquaintances  shyly,  and  taking  their  places 
in  the  seats  which  had  been  arranged  just  below 


THE  SINGING  129 

the  pulpit.  There  seemed  to  be  no  need  to  inquire 
which  was  soprano,  alto,  tenor  or  bass.  They 
had  met  together  for  years,  and  knew  each 
other's  voices  well.  There  were  only  two  who 
hesitated  as  if  not  quite  sure  where  to  go,  and 
Azalea,  seeing  them,  was  surprised  to  see  that  it 
was  Mrs.  Carson  and  a  tall  handsome  man,  with 
a  touch  of  gray  in  his  hair,  whom  she  took,  at 
once  to  be  Carin's  father.  The  hook-nosed  man 
came  forward  to  inquire  politely  as  to  their 
voices,  and  after  shaking  hands  with  them, 
placed  them  among  the  sopranos  and  the  tenors. 
Then  a  fresh-faced  young  woman  seated  her- 
self at  the  organ,  and  in  a  moment  the  chorus  of 
voices  broke  on  Azalea's  ear.  It  was  not  the 
way  she  had  expected  it  to  be  —  that  music.  It 
was  sad,  although  full  of  worship  and  trust. 
The  voices  wavered  curiously,  and  seemed  to 
flutter  on  the  notes  something  as  a  flag  flutters 
in  the  wind.  Perhaps  the  alto  and  the  bass  were 
a  little  too  strong  for  the  more  musical  parts ;  but 
at  any  rate,  at  first,  the  little  girl  was  disap- 
pointed. Then,  someway,  she  began  to  like  it. 
She  felt  the  tears  come  stinging  to  her  eyes, 
though  she  could  not  have  told  why,  and  a  lump 
gathered  in  her  throat.    She  forgot  the  men  and 


i3o  AZALEA 

women  and  the  haggard  old  meeting  house,  for- 
got the  sound  of  the  pines  without  and  the  hum- 
ming of  the  bees;  and  she  seemed  for  a  moment 
—  a  wonderful  moment  —  to  be  in  mid-air  like 
a  bird,  and  to  hear  a  strange,  sad,  holy  song  com- 
ing up  to  her  from  men  and  women  who  toiled, 
and  hoped,  and  loved,  and  suffered,  down  on  the 
earth. 

Some  one  offered  her  a  hymn  book,  and  the 
strange  moment  passed,  and  she  was  able  to  fol- 
low the  hymns.  They  had  noble  words  to  them, 
and  her  heart  seemed  to  grow  bigger  as  she  read 
them.  Such  words  suited  her  —  fed  something 
in  her  that  was  hungry  and  cried  for  food.  She 
began  to  understand  why  it  was  that  Pa  and  Ma 
McBirney  were  so  good.  They  had  been  taught 
these  words  from  the  time  that  they  were  chil- 
dren. They  had  grown  up  with  these  beautiful 
thoughts  in  their  hearts. 

After  a  time  the  young  people  were  called  for, 
and  the  older  ones  took  their  seats.  The  young 
wives  went  and  their  brown-faced  husbands, 
and  the  fresh-faced,  wistful  girls,  and  the  boys 
with  their  bright  eyes.  Azalea  loved  to  look  at 
them,  they  seemed  so  strong  and  contented.  She 
liked  the  bright  frocks  of  the  girls,  and  the  way 


THE  SINGING  131 

their  hair  was  braided,  and  though  she  tried  to 
think  of  other  things,  she  fell  to  picturing  a 
green  lawn  frock  she  would  have  some  day 
when  she  made  money  for  herself,  and  the 
figured  sash  —  green  leaves  on  a  white  ground 
—  she  would  wear  with  it. 

Just  then,  the  man  who  was  sitting  next 
Azalea  arose  and  went  over  by  the  window,  and 
a  moment  later  some  one  slipped  down  into  the 
place  he  had  left  and  gave  Azalea's  hand  a 
squeeze.  Azalea  turned  her  head  as  quick  as  a 
frightened  bird,  and  there  sat  Carin  Carson, 
smiling  at  her  as  if  they  were  old  friends. 

"  I  was  so  glad  when  I  saw  you  here,"  she 
whispered.  "  Isn't  it  a  pity  they  don't  ask  the 
children  to  sing?  I  just  love  to  sing,  don't 
you?  " 

Azalea  shook  her  head.  She  had  sung  many 
a  time  for  the  people  who  came  to  the  show, 
but  she  had  hated  the  silly  songs  she  was  made 
to  sing,  and  as  she  thought  of  them  now  she 
blushed. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  really  can  sing,"  she 
whispered  back.  "  I  could  once,  but  my  voice 
is  spoiled.  I  sang  too  loud,  and  now  it's  all 
rough  and  horrid." 


132  AZALEA 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  returned  her  friend. 
"  Your  voice  is  so  pleasant  when  you  speak  that 
I  don't  see  how  it  can  be  horrid  when  vou  sing. 
I'm  to  have  a  singing  teacher  come  to  the  house 
twice  a  week,  and  I  wish  you'd  come  down  some 
time  and  have  her  hear  you.  Perhaps  you  sing 
a  great  deal  better  than  you  think  you  do." 

"  No,  no,"  whispered  Azalea,  shaking  her 
head.    "  I  do  everything  wrong!  " 

Carin  laughed  under  her  breath  and  gave  her 
friend's  hand  another  squeeze.  She  was  think- 
ing that  Azalea  was  the  prettiest  girl  in  the 
place,  but  she  had  been  taught  that  it  was  not 
nice  to  pay  people  compliments,  and  so  she  said 
nothing  of  what  was  in  her  mind.  But  she  de- 
cided that  she  would  enjoy  Azalea's  society  for 
that  day,  and  when  the  singing  adjourned  for 
the  people  to  eat  their  lunch,  Carin  insisted  that 
the  McBirneys  and  her  people  should  eat 
together.  So,  by  dint  of  urging  and  introducing, 
she  finally  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  father 
and  mother  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McBirney  seated 
together  beneath  the  shade  of  some  glorious 
tulip  trees,  spreading  their  luncheons  out  on  one 
table  cloth. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carson  were  peoole  who  had 


THE  SINGING  133 

traveled  in  many  foreign  places,  and  had  heard 
and  seen  much  that  was  most  beautiful  and 
wonderful  in  the  world,  but  their  ways  were  so 
simple  and  hearty  that  neither  Mary  nor 
Thomas  McBirney  felt  abashed  with  them.  In 
fact,  the  Carsons  were  ignorant  of  many  things 
in  the  country  round  about  them,  and  they  asked 
questions  as  if  they  were  children.  The  McBir- 
neys  answered  them  politely,  though  they  really 
couldn't  help  wondering  how  it  was  that  such 
learned  people  didn't  know  ginseng  when  they 
saw  it,  or  that  they  hadn't  heard  about  the  asbes- 
tos mines  in  the  neighborhood,  or  didn't  under- 
stand how  to  trap  the  rabbits  that  spoiled  the 
gardens. 

Azalea  was  fascinated  with  the  free  ways  all 
these  Carsons  had.  They  seemed  to  say  what- 
ever came  into  their  heads,  and  they  laughed 
outright  in  such  a  hearty  and  happy  way  that 
those  who  heard  them  had  to  laugh  too.  Mr. 
Carson  kept  running  through  the  hymn  tunes 
he  had  heard,  though  he  did  it  in  a  quiet,  charm- 
ing way,  not  at  all  as  if  he  wished  to  attract 
attention,  but  as  if  he  felt  himself  among  friends 
who  would  allow  him  to  follow  his  impulses. 
He  was,  of  course,  different  from  all  of  the  other 


134  AZALEA 

men  there,  yet  he  had  a  way  of  making  it  seem 
as  if  they  did  him  a  favor  when  they  were 
friendly  with  him,  and  Azalea  heard  him 
heartily  thanking  the  hook-nosed  man  —  Mr. 
Pickett,  his  name  was  —  for  having  asked  him 
and  Mrs.  Carson  to  sing. 

"  I  never  quite  had  a  chance  to  sing  as  much 
as  I  wanted  to,"  he  said  laughingly.  "  I  sing 
when  I  get  up,  and  when  I'm  in  my  bath  tub, 
and  when  I  walk  and  when  I  ride.  If  my  wife 
would  let  me  I'd  sing  at  the  table,  particularly 
when  I  see  my  favorite  kind  of  custard  pie  com- 
ing on  —  but  though  I've  done  my  best,  I've  not 
had  my  sing  out  yet." 

"  Well,  if  you  live  down  this  way  long 
enough,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Pickett,  "  we'll  try 
to  satisfy  you  yet." 

Mr.  Pickett  said  there  would  be  quite  a  long 
recess  before  the  singing  "  took  up  "  again,  so 
Azalea  and  Carin  wandered  away  in  the  woods 
together.  Azalea  couldn't  help  feeling  just  a 
trifle  awkward  and  shy  with  this  graceful  girl, 
whose  clothes  seem  to  move  with  a  mysterious 
rustle,  and  who  was  like  a  flower,  giving  out 
faint  odors  of  violet  as  she  walked.  Her  laugh 
was  gay,  but  soft,  and  every  word  she  spoke 


THE  SINGING  135 

seemed  to  have  another  accent  than  that  to 
which  Azalea  was  used.  Azalea  wondered  how 
she  could  be  so  well  pleased  with  a  simple  girl 
like  herself,  and  with  all  these  hard-working 
folk,  and  she  tried  to  say  something  of  the  kind, 
but  she  could  find  no  fit  words.  So  they  talked 
about  the  woods,  and  about  the  sort  of  picnics 
they  liked,  and  about  how  afraid  they  were  — 
or  weren't  —  of  thunder  storms. 

As  they  went  on,  they  came  to  a  beautiful  hol- 
low in  the  woods.  There  was  soft,  very  green 
grass  in  the  bottom  of  this  cup-shaped  place, 
and  ferns  and  delicate  vines  grew  on  the  sides. 

"What  a  lovely,  lovely  place!  "  cried  Carin, 
clasping  her  hands.  "  Fit  for  the  fairy  queen, 
isn't  it,  Azalea?" 

"  Do  you  believe  in  fairies?"  asked  Azalea 
almost  indignantly. 

"Believe  in  them?"  repeated  Carin.  "I 
believe  in  whatever  I  want  to  believe  in.  Don't 
you  think  it's  fun  to  believe  in  fairies?  " 

"  What's  the  use  of  believing  in  a  thing  that 
isn't  true?  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Carin,  sighing,  as  if  she 
found  it  rather  hard  to  bridge  the  distance 
between  Azalea's  mind  and  her  own,   "  some 


136  AZALEA 

thoughts  are  for  use  and  some  are  for  fun.  My 
shoes  are  for  use,  but  my  gold  beads  are  for  fun. 
Ideas  are  like  that  too.  I  know  the  earth  turns 
over  and  makes  day  and  night;  I  play  there  are 
fairies  just  to  suit  myself.  It's  like  trimming  on 
a  dress  —  thoughts  of  that  kind.  You  like  trim- 
ming on  a  dress,  don't  you,  Azalea?  " 

But  Azalea's  answer  was  a  low  cry. 

"Don't  move,  Carin!  Don't  move!  Oh, 
Carin,  the  snake!  " 

Carin  looked  and  saw.  Before  her,  coiled 
and  ready  for  its  wicked  spring,  was  a  snake 
with  a  gleaming,  splendid  skin,  green  and 
brown  and  iridescent  tints,  in  diamond  shaped 
pattern,  and  on  the  summer  air  was  a  dry,  curi- 
ous rattle  that  told  both  the  girls  its  alarming 
story.  Carin  said  nothing  for  the  second  or  two 
in  which  she  realized  her  danger,  and  she  seemed 
only  to  half  hear  Azalea's  sharp  cry: 

"  Now,  jump  to  one  side,  Oh,  quick!  " 

But  she  had  no  time  to  obey,  for  at  that  instant, 
a  shot  rang  on  the  air,  and  the  wicked  head  of 
the  serpent  drooped. 

"  Oh,  Oh!  "  screamed  Azalea,  more  terrified 
now  that  the  danger  was  over  than  she  had  been 
before.     And  "  Oh,"  sighed  Carin  softly,  and 


THE  SINGING  137 

slid  down  to  the  ground  and  sat  there,  very 
white,  with  one  hand  to  her  lips. 

"  It's  all  right,  honey  bird,  all  right,"  cried  a 
voice  near  them.  "  That  there  sarpent  can't  do 
you  no  manner  of  harm  now.  You  jest  sit  still  a 
minute  or  two  and  get  over  your  scare,  and  then 
I'll  escort  you  back  to  your  folks." 

Carin  and  Azalea  both  turned  and  looked  into 
the  eyes  of  a  wonderful  old  man  —  looked  into 
eyes,  large,  dark,  and  soft,  half  hidden  beneath 
bushy  eyebrows,  and  set  beneath  a  beetling  brow. 
His  hair  was  iron-gray,  curling  and  thick,  and 
it  stood  up  on  his  head  in  such  a  way  as  to  make 
him  look  two  or  three  inches  taller  than  he 
really  was,  and  that  was  quite  unnecessary,  for 
he  stood,  as  he  was  quick  to  declare,  six  feet  and 
four  inches  in  his  stocking  feet.  He  was  very 
thin,  and  when  he  walked  he  seemed  on  the 
point  of  falling  to  pieces,  because  he  had  what 
is  known  as  double  joints,  so  that  his  arms  and 
legs  swung  about  in  almost  any  way  he  wished 
to  have  them,  and  his  head  turned  about  with 
wonderful  ease  on  his  long  neck. 

Fie  stooped  now — and  it  was  an  amazing 
thing  to  see  him  do  it  —  and  picked  up  a  fiddle 
which  he  had  laid  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 


1 38  AZALEA 

"  It  certainly  was  a  mighty  convenient  thing, 
having  that  gun  along,"  he  said.  "  Old  brother 
sarpent,  he  never  would  have  waited  for  me  to 
get  after  him  with  a  stick.  A  bullet  was  the  only 
thing  that  could  put  him  out  of  business,  and  I 
wa'n't  sure  I  could  hit  him  at  that  distance  — 
couldn't  have,  I  reckon,  if  the  case  hadn't  been 
so  pressing." 

Carin  got  up  and  ran  toward  him  with  her 
hands  outstretched. 

"  Thank  you!  Thank  you,  sir!  "  she  said,  in 
that  pretty  eager  way  of  hers.  "  I  know  what 
you've  done  for  me,  and  I  must  take  you  to  see 
my  papa  and  mamma.  Why,  it  was  wonderful! 
I'll  never  forget  it  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  Steady  on,  steady  on,"  said  the  man. 
"  Knocking  the  head  off  a  tarnation  rascal  like 
that  is  no  new  business  with  me.  Glad,  though, 
to  have  served  you,  little  miss." 

He  bowed  low,  and  the  girls  watched  him, 
fascinated. 

"  I  didn't  hear  you  playing  this  morning,  sir," 
went  on  Carin.  "  Weren't  you  in  at  the  Sing- 
ing? I  should  think  they'd  love  to  have  you 
play." 

"  My  innings  are  coming,  Miss  Honey  Bird," 


THE  SINGING  139 

replied  the  man  smiling.  "  There  ain't  been  a 
singing  at  Friendly  Church  for  thirty  years  that 
hain't  had  old  Haystack  Thompson  there,  a  fid- 
dling. But  I  was  late  getting  here  to-day.  I've 
been  farming  it  away  up  on  Rabbit  Nose  Moun- 
tain, and  I  had  to  hoof  it  down  here.  I  started 
early  enough,  but  I  got  lazy  like  and  laid  down 
and  dozed  off.  When  I  woke,  the  sun  was  high 
overhead  and  I  just  piked  along,  but  even  then 
I  found  myself  late." 

"  You  will  play,  though,  won't  you,  sir?  " 

"  You  bet  I  will,  Miss  Honey  Bird.  And  I 
pray  the  Lord  will  keep  a  guard  over  my  bow 
and  hold  it  down  to  hymn  tunes.  If  so  be,  that 
thar  bow  should  get  Old  Nick  in  it,  as  I've 
known  it  to  do  afore  now,  I  might  have  the 
whole  kit  and  boodle  footing  the  Highland  fling 
or  the  Virginia  reel  right  there  on  the  floor  of 
the  meeting  house." 

Carin  laughed  merrily. 

"  Oh,  do  come  along  quick  and  meet  papa," 
she  said.  "You'll  be  such  good  friends."  She 
ran  ahead  in  her  eagerness,  urging  "  Haystack 
Thompson  "  to  follow. 

It  had  not  been  necessary  for  her  to  ask  why 
he  had  this  curious  name,  for  she  knew  very 


140  AZALEA 

well  that  it  had  been  given  to  him  because  of  his 
wild  crop  of  hair,  which  did  indeed  look  like  a 
stack  of  hay  after  a  bad  windstorm. 

"  I'd  no  idea  that  Azalea  and  I  had  come  so 
far,"  she  said  to  her  new  friend.  "  We 
wandered  on  and  on,  talking,  and  when  we  came 
to  that  lovely  hollow  we  couldn't  keep  out  of  it." 

They  were  getting  to  the  clearing,  and  they 
could  see  the  people  moving  toward  the  church. 
Mr.  Thompson  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mr.  Pickett, 
and  the  two  musicians  greeted  each  other  like 
long-lost  brothers,  and  walked  toward  the  meet- 
ing house  in  great  enthusiasm,  making  an  odd 
pair,  for  Mr.  Pitckett,  for  all  of  his  air  of 
importance,  reached  no  higher  than  Mr. 
Thomoson's  shoulder.  Carin  found  her  father 
just  as  he  was  going  in  the  door  and  dragged 
him  back  to  meet  her  new  acquaintance;  and 
a  moment  later,  everyone  had  seen  "  Old  Hay- 
stack "  and  was  clamoring  for  his  music.  Mr. 
Thompson  was  given  the  post  of  honor,  and 
there  he  stood,  towering  up  toward  the  pointed 
roof,  his  faded  fiddle  in  his  hand,  tears  in  his 
eyes,  smiling  at  his  old  friends. 

He  tuned  up  carefully,  and  ran  his  bow  lov- 
ingly across  the  string  a  few  times,  then  gave  a 


THE  SINGING  141 

shake  to  the  "  haystack  "  and  began  to  play  "  Old 
Hundred."  At  first  it  was  as  if  a  deep  voice, 
full  of  love  of  God  and  life  were  singing;  then 
as  if  a  chorus  of  children's  voices  sang  it  in  joy; 
then  as  if  the  wTind  called  it  to  the  sea  and  the 
sea  answered;  then  as  if  the  hills  shouted  it  and 
the  voices  of  all  living  things  joined  in. 

Carin  found  herself  on  her  feet  —  found  her- 
self, indeed,  wishing  that  she  could  fly.  For  a 
moment  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  flying,  but  when 
she  looked  about  her,  she  saw  that  she  was  not, 
but  was  standing  singing  at  the  top  of  her  lungs 
with  all  the  others.  And  then  for  an  hour,  while 
the  tall,  gaunt  fiddler  drew  his  music  from  his 
instrument,  and  the  people  followed  him  as  if 
they  had  one  voice,  Carin  forgot  everything  in 
the  world  except  the  music.  But  suddenly  it 
ended.  The  fiddler  played  some  minor  theme 
which  no  one  knew,  and  which  was  born  in  his 
brain  that  moment.  All  the  people  took  it  for 
the  note  of  parting  and  filed  out  of  the  church. 
And  once  out,  they  seemed  in  little  mood  to  talk. 
They  had  been  too  deeply  moved  for  that.  They 
preferred  to  get  in  their  vehicles  and  drive  off 
into  the  silence  of  the  lonely  mountain  roads. 
Carin,  certainly,  was  glad  that  she  could  snuggle 


1 42  AZALEA 

in  the  back  seat  of  their  surrey  with  her  mother, 
and  sit  there  in  quiet.  She  was  strangely  tired, 
and  wanted  nothing  in  the  world  except  to  rest, 
and  she  thought,  in  the  back  of  her  mind,  that 
probably  Azalea  was  feeling  the  same  way. 
That  made  her  wonder  how  it  was  that  she  had 
not  seen  Azalea  after  they  all  went  back  into 
the  church,  and  she  was  just  going  to  speak  to 
her  mother  about  it,  when  Mrs.  McBirney  came 
running  toward  them  with  a  white  face. 

"  We  can't  find  Azalea  anywhere,"  she  cried. 
"We've  looked  everywhere  —  pa  and  Jim  and 
Hi,  and  Mr.  Pickett  and  lots  of  others.  We 
can't  find  her  anywhere!  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  KIDNAPPING 

"  Why,  she  can't  be  far  away,"  cried  Carin, 
trembling  in  spite  of  herself.  "  I'm  sure  I  can 
find  her,  Mrs.  McBirney.  Where's  Mr. 
Thompson?  He'll  go  with  me  back  to  the  place 
where  we  were  together.  She  came  after  us  for 
a  way,  I  know.  I  thought  she  followed  the 
whole  way,  but  the  singing  was  just  beginning, 
and  I  ran  in  the  church,  not  noticing." 

"  Of  course  we'll  find  her,  Mrs.  McBirney," 
Mr.  Carson  declared  stoutly.  "The  child 
couldn't  get  lost  in  a  clearing  like  this." 

"  Perhaps  she  lit  out,"  drawled  a  mountain 
woman  who  was  standing  near.  "  You  can't  tell 
what  a  girl  brought  up  to  lead  a  wandering  life 
might  do.  Tramps  like  that  ain't  to  be  depended 
on  to  keep  to  roof  and  hearth." 

Mary  McBirney  turned  toward  the  woman 
with  flashing  eyes. 

"  My  Azalea  wouldn't  do  anything  to  make 
me  trouble,  ma'am,"   she   said.    "  She's   got   a 

143 


i44  AZALEA 

heart  of  gold.  Something  has  happened  — 
that's  the  whole  of  it  —  something  has  hap- 
pened." 

Carin  had  sped  in  search  of  Mr.  Thompson, 
and  having  found  him,  the  two  set  off  in  the 
woods  in  search  of  the  dell.  "  Haystack's  "  hair 
seemed  to  tower  higher  than  ever,  and  his  green 
felt  cover  was  half  off  his  violin,  and  dangled 
among  the  bushes  as  the  two  hastened  through 
the  wood.  In  Carin's  heart  was  the  terrible 
thought  of  the  rattlesnake.  What  if  the  mate  to 
the  one  Mr.  Thompson  had  killed  had  stung 
Azalea!  But  why,  then,  had  she  not  cried  out? 
It  was  past  imagining.  Mr.  Thompson  took 
Carin's  hand  in  his  that  they  might  go  faster, 
and  the  two  hastened  on  through  the  sun-flecked 
wood  till  they  came  to  the  beautiful  hollow  with 
the  soft  green  grass.  But  they  could  see  nothing 
of  Azalea,  and  their  calls  and  halloos  brought 
no  answer. 

"  We  must  try  another  tack,"  said  Mr. 
Thompson.  "  Something  queer  about  this  — 
something  mighty  queer." 

So  all  the  neighbors  seemed  to  think.  The 
news  that  Azalea  was  missing  had  spread 
rapidly.   It  had  overtaken  the  departing  wagon- 


THE  KIDNAPPING  145 

loads  of  neighbors,  who  returned  to  lend  their 
assistance  to  their  distressed  neighbors.  Par- 
ties ran  out  in  all  directions,  scouring  the  woods, 
calling,  peeping  into  the  old  well,  and  visiting 
the  near-by  houses.  No  one  had  seen  or  heard 
anything  of  the  girl. 

"  You  don't  think  she'd  go  into  hiding,  sister 
McBirney,"  inquired  good  old  Elder  Mills, 
with  sympathy  in  his  eye.  "  She  didn't  seem 
like  that  sort  of  a  girl,  but  she  might  have  taken 
offense  at  something  when  no  offense  was  meant. 
Young  folks  are  like  that,  sometimes.  I  ran 
away  from  a  good  home  twice  when  I  was  a  boy, 
because  my  feelings  were  so  precious  tender. 
Great  fools  young  folks  are!  And  the  worst  of 
it  is,  they  don't  all  grow  out  of  their  folly  when 
they  get  older." 

Mrs.  McBirney  stood  there  among  her  neigh- 
bors and  cast  her  eye  first  on  this  group  and  then 
on  that. 

"  I  must  say  it  clear  and  plain,"  she  said  in 
her  pleasant  voice ;  "  I  trust  that  girl  like  I  would 
my  own  son  here.  She  loves  me  and  I  love  her, 
and  we're  heart  to  heart.  She's  in  some  kind  of 
trouble,  and  I  reckon  I  know  what  it  is." 

"What?"  demanded  twenty  voices. 


146  AZALEA 

"  Them  show  people  has  stole  her.  They  said 
they  would,  and  they  waited  till  we  was  off  the 
watch,  and  took  their  chance." 

"  Why,  ma,"  said  Thomas  McBirney, 
"  they've  been  gone  weeks  and  weeks.  They  had 
about  all  they  wanted  of  this  community." 

"  They  must  have  come  back  then,"  answered 
Mrs,  McBirney  with  gentle  obstinacy,  "  for 
they've  gone  and  took  my  girl." 

The  words  faltered  in  her  throat,  and  Jimmy, 
who  was  watching  her,  ran  to  her  and  slipped 
his  arms  about  her.  It  was  the  first  time  that  his 
mother  had  realized  that  he  was  not  a  little  boy. 
She  found  in  that  moment  of  sorrow  that  by 
bowing  her  head,  she  could  weep  on  his  sturdy 
young  shoulder,  and  that  he  seemed  strong  to 
comfort  her. 

Hi  Kitchell  drew  near,  his  eyes  shining  in  a 
face  that  was  white  beneath  all  his  tan. 

"  Zalie  didn't  run  away,"  he  said  in  his  rather 
gruff  voice,  which  was  changing  from  a  boy's 
to  a  man's,  and  was  now  in  his  throat  and  now  in 
his  head.  "  You  can't  make  me  think  Zalie  ran 
away.    She  wouldn't  do  such  a  mean  thing." 

"  I'm  sure  she  wouldn't,  Hi,"  broke  in  the  soft 
tones  of  Mrs.  Carson.    "  She  was  too  kind  and 


THE  KIDNAPPING  147 

too  happy.  I  think  we'd  better  drive  home,  each 
going  our  proper  way,  watching  out  on  every 
side  for  her,  and  get  the  sheriff  to  send  word  to 
all  the  towns  round  about.  If  the  show  people 
have  taken  her,  it  ought  to  be  an  easy  matter  to 
find  her,  for  the  show  is  bound  to  go  to  the 
towns." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  broke  in  her  husband.  "  Let's  do 
something!  I  can't  stand  this  waiting  around, 
not  knowing  what  may  be  happening  to  the  poor 
child.  Mr.  Pickett  tells  me  he'll  have  every 
inch  of  woods  for  a  radius  of  two  miles  around, 
searched  by  some  of  these  young  men.  So  we 
may  leave  that  quite  in  his  hands.  But  he  thinks, 
and  I  think,  that  the  child  has  been  carried 
away.  He  said  he  heard  the  show  people  kept 
making  their  threats.  They  heard  of  the  Sing- 
ing, and  judged  that  Azalea  would  be  here  and 
that  it  was  their  chance." 

"  We  ought  to  have  cared  for  her  better," 
moaned  Ma  McBirney.  "  Thomas,  I  blame  my- 
self for  not  looking  after  her  better." 

"  Well,  Mary,  you'll  have  to  do  all  the  blam- 
ing yourself  then,  for  nobody  else  will  do  it. 
We've  set  ourselves  to  war  against  the  children 


148  AZALEA 

of  Satan,  and  they've  been  more  wily  than  we 
took  them  to  be.    That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

A  light  rain  had  begun  to  fall  and  the  glory 
of  the  day  was  quite  gone  as  the  people  turned 
from  the  grove  around  Friendly  Church  and 
moved  off  along  the  six  roads  that  debouched 
from  that  gathering  place. 

Carin  looked  sadly  from  the  little  window  in 
the  curtains  of  their  surrey,  and  wondered  what 
strange  thing  could  be  happening  to  her  friend. 
Though  several  hours  had  passed  since  she  was 
lost,  and  though  at  least  two  hundred  persons 
had  joined  in  the  search  for  her,  and  she  had 
not  been  found,  still,  Carin  found  it  impossible 
to  realize  that  anything  could  have  happened  to 
the  laughing  girl  who  had  run  with  her  through 
the  woods  to  the  green  dell. 

Usually  Carin  liked  to  ride  in  the  rain.  It  was 
fun  to  cuddle  down  beneath  the  robes,  in  the 
dusk  of  the  curtained  carriage,  and  "  play." 
Carin  knew  how  to  play  much  more  delightful 
things  without  toys  than  with  them.  She  had 
only  to  begin  pretending  that  she  was  a  princess 
who  was  being  stolen  and  carried  into  the  desert ; 
or  that  she  was  a  missionary  traveling  over  the 
Himalayas;  or  a  pirate's  daughter,  going  to  hide 


THE  KIDNAPPING  149 

treasure;  or  any  other  of  a  hundred  things,  to 
have  a  beautiful  time.  One  of  her  favorite  "  pre- 
tends "  had  been  that  about  the  stolen  princess. 
But  the  story  had  come  true  in  a  way,  and  Carin 
found  it  was  not  nearly  so  amusing  as  she  had 
thought  it  would  be. 

The  rain  grew  heavier  and  the  sky  sulkier,  and 
when  they  reached  home,  it  was  chilly  and 
almost  dark.  To  be  sure  the  great  house  was 
lighted  up,  and  a  fire  was  burning  in  the  living 
room,  and  a  delicious  supper  was  spread.  But 
these  things  did  not  bring  as  much  comfort  as 
usual.  Mrs.  Carson  had  insisted  that  the  Mc- 
Birneys  should  not  climb  the  mountain  that 
night. 

"  You'll  only  have  to  come  down  in  the  morn- 
ing," she  said.  "  Spend  the  night  with  us. 
We'll  telephone  the  sheriff  and  get  him  up  here; 
and  we'll  telegraph  all  the  surrounding  towns, 
and  you'll  be  right  here  to  help  and  advise." 

11  But  there's  the  stock,"  objected  Thomas 
McBirney.  "  I  can't  leave  the  poor  dumb  beasts 
hungering  and  thirsting." 

"  Hi  and  me'll  look  after  them,  pa,"  said  Jim. 
11  You  just  let  us  take  the  horses,  and  we'll  ride 
up  there  and  'tend  to  things." 


150  AZALEA 


a  n 


'Deed  we  will,"  agreed  Hi.  "  The  only 
trouble  is,  I  ought  to  be  at  the  mill  in  the  morn- 
ing.   They'll  be  looking  for  me." 

Hi  spoke  as  if  the  mill  would  shut  down  if  he 
didn't  get  there  on  time,  and  Mr.  Carson 
couldn't  conceal  a  smile.  He  liked  Hi's  import- 
ant businesslike  ways  and  his  fashion  of  taking 
responsibility.    So  he  answered  gravely: 

"  Allow  me  to  call  up  the  manager  of  the  mill 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  Hi,  and  apprise 
him  of  the  situation.  I  may  be  able  to  get  him 
at  breakfast,  so  that  he'll  know  just  what  to  ex- 
pect before  he  reaches  the  office." 

It  seemed  a  reasonable  arrangement  to  Hi, 
and  he  hadn't  the  faintest  notion  of  the  smiles  of 
his  elders.  So,  mounted  on  the  bare  backs  of  the 
McBirney  horses,  the  boys  set  out  to  ride  up  the 
mountain  in  the  rain.  Each  wore  an  old  rain- 
coat which  Mr.  Carson  had  fished  up  from 
somewhere  about  the  house,  and  each  carried  a 
lantern. 

"  It  certainly  looks  mighty  lonely  to  me  for 
them  boys  to  start  off  up  that  mountain  alone," 
sighed  Pa  McBirney.  "  But  I  couldn't  endure 
it  to  think  of  the  stock  going  unfed." 

"  You   don't  suppose  those  dreadful   people 


THE  KIDNAPPING  151 

will  get  after  Hi,  too,  do  you?  "  Carin  whispered 
to  her  mother.  Mrs.  Carson  started  and  looked 
troubled. 

"  I  declare  Carin,  I  don't  know.  I'm  all  at 
sea.  I've  read  of  things  like  this,  but  nothing  of 
the  sort  ever  came  into  my  life  before,  and  I  can't 
more  than  half  believe  it." 

"  That's  just  the  way  I  feel,  mamma.  There's 
a  ring  at  the  doorbell.    Perhaps  it's  the  sheriff." 

It  was  the  sheriff,  Mr.  James  Coulter,  a  heavy 
man  with  small  eyes  and  a  square  jaw,  and  with 
him  was  Haystack  Thompson. 

"  You'll  have  to  excuse  me  for  coming  along," 
Haystack  apologized.  "  But  I'm  in  this  hunt  to 
stay.  Life's  been  lagging  along  pretty  slow  with 
me  lately  and  now  here  something  comes  that 
looks  to  me  like  a  man's  work,  and  I'll  be  plum- 
basted,  if  I  don't  want  a  hand  in  it." 

Thomas  McBirney  held  out  his  hand. 

"  You  always  was  one  for  adventures,  Mr. 
Thompson,"  he  said,  with  emotion  in  his  voice. 
"  We're  grateful  for  your  help." 

So  they  sat  together,  planning  and  scheming, 
till  Carin  fell  asleep  on  the  sofa,  and  the  oil 
burned  out  of  the  lamps.  The  rain  fell  heavier 
and  heavier  and  blew  in  gusts  against  the  pane. 


152  AZALEA 

And  when  Carin  staggered  up  to  bed  with  the 
help  of  Mammy  Thula,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  all 
the  pleasant  things  had  stopped  happening 
and  only  trouble  was  at  hand. 

Very  much  the  same  sort  of  an  idea  was  lying 
in  the  bottom  of  Ma  McBirney's  mind,  though 
she  tried  to  answer  cheerfully  when  her  Thomas 
spoke  to  her,  and  she  said  her  prayers  as  if  she 
had  perfect  faith  that  they  were  to  be  answered. 
But  the  truth  was,  she  was  too  worried  just  then 
to  have  much  faith.  She  imagined  the  frightful 
things  that  might  be  happening  to  her  poor 
Azalea,  and  she  realized  more  than  ever  how 
dear  the  child  had  become  to  her,  and  how  she 
loved  her  merry  ways  and  her  odd  turns  of  mind, 
and  her  way  of  acting  as  if  the  world  was  hers. 
But,  more  than  that  —  Oh,  much  more  than  that 
just  at  that  particular  moment,  was  her  anxiety 
for  her  own  James  Stuart.  What  was  her  boy 
doing  just  then,  she  wondered.  The  rain  was 
simply  threshing  against  the  pane,  and  she  knew 
in  what  torrents  it  would  pour  down  the  moun- 
tain side,  ripping  new  gulleys  for  itself  and 
deepening  the  old  ones.  It  was  black  as  only 
night  and  cloud  can  make  the  world,  and  the 
horses  would  be  wearied  and  fretted. 


THE  KIDNAPPING  153 

"  I  doubt  we  were  right  in  letting  those  poor 
boys  go  up  the  mountain  to-night,  Thomas,"  she 
said,  just  as  the  good  Pa  McBirney  was  sinking 
into  slumber.  "  We  might  better  have  let  the 
creatures  go  hungry  for  a  while  than  to  risk  the 
lives  of  those  boys." 

"  Go  to  sleep,  Mary,"  commanded  Mr.  Mc- 
Birney in  a  sleepy  voice.  "  I've  got  to  have  my 
night's  rest."  And  indeed,  he  seemed  to  be  be- 
ginning it  before  he  had  finished  his  sentence, 
for  the  next  moment  above  all  the  clamor  and 
uproar  of  the  gale,  ma  could  hear  his  steady  and 
wholesome  snore. 

But  she  lay  awake,  turning  this  way  and  that, 
creeping  out  of  bed  to  look  from  the  window, 
where  nothing  could  be  seen  but  this  latter 
deluge,  and  then  huddling  in  again,  praying  for 
the  three  wandering  children. 

And  as  a  matter  of  fact,  prayers  could  not 
come  amiss  for  any  of  them  that  night.  And 
really,  her  own  freckled  Jim  needed  them  rather 
more  than  the  two  she  had  taken  under  her 
motherly  wing.  For  James  Stuart  McBirney 
encountered  that  night  one  of  the  greatest 
dangers  of  his  short  but  interesting  career.  The 
two  drenched  boys  had  urged  their  horses  up  the 


154  AZALEA 

slippery  mountain  road,  and  the  horses  had 
plunged  on,  half  blinded  by  the  storm.  The 
way  had  been  difficult,  but  all  had  gone  well 
enough  till  they  came  to  the  falls  where  Jim 
had,  several  weeks  before,  shown  Hi  his  mill 
and  dam.  The  fall  was  roaring  down  the  moun- 
tain side,  and  the  boys  had  no  choice  but  to 
cross  the  swollen  torrent  as  it  foamed  and 
writhed  across  the  roadway.  In  fair  weather 
this  was  a  safe  enough  crossing,  and  Jim  loved 
it  beyond  any  words  of  his  to  say.  He  would 
pause  here  while  his  horse  drank,  and  he  him- 
self would  sit  staring  at  the  dream-like  valley, 
thinking  vague  and  happy  thoughts.  But  to- 
night, as  he  was  to  learn,  the  great  boulders  that 
had  been  placed  at  the  outer  edge  of  the  road 
had  been  carried  away,  and  the  black  water  was 
an  enemy — the  water  which  had  so  often  been 
his  playmate.  Midstream,  he  felt  his  horse 
slipping. 

"  Mac!"  he  called  sharply,  slapping  the  ani- 
mal encouragingly,  "  Mac!  Pull  up!  " 

But  Mac,  it  seemed,  could  not  pull  up,  though 
he  tried  desperately.  His  feet  went  out  from 
under  him,  and  he  lay  on  his  side,  with  the 
waters    raging    about    him    and    bearing    him 


THE  KIDNAPPING  155 

toward  that  desperate  edge.  Once  over  that, 
they  would  drop  sheer  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
upon  jagged  rocks  where  the  waters  twisted  and 
hissed  like  angry  serpents.  Fortunately,  Mac 
had  not  gone  down  quickly,  but  after  a  struggle, 
and  Jim  had  had  time  to  free  himself  from  the 
stirrups.  He  stood  there  in  the  flood  now,  with 
the  frantic  horse  between  him  and  that  deadly 
fall.  The  bridle  reins  were  still  in  his  hands, 
and  he  held  to  them  with  the  instinct  of  the 
born  horseman,  though  what  a  slender  boy  could 
do  with  a  frightened  horse  in  a  raging  torrent, 
it  is  not  easy  to  imagine.  Jim  felt  both  of  them 
going,  and  said  to  himself:  "  One  second  more 
and  I'll  let  old  Mac  go  and  get  out  of  this  — 
if  I  can!  "  when  suddenly  the  great  body  of  the 
horse  caught  and  held.  Jim  felt  that  the  animal 
was  bracing  himself  against  something  strong 
and  firm,  and  he  let  go  the  reins  to  escape  the 
plunging  hoofs.  But  the  next  moment,  freed 
from  the  horse's  sustaining  back,  he  found  him- 
self swept  from  his  feet  and  caught  in  the  ter- 
rible swirl  of  the  waters.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  he  screamed  "Hi!  Hi!"  though  he 
knew  there  was  small  chance  that  Hi  could  hear 
him.    And  at  that  instant,   a  terrible  thought 


156  AZALEA 

flashed  over  his  mind.  What  if  Hi  had  not  been 
able  to  cross  the  ford  I  What  if  he,  too,  had  gone 
down ! 

"Hi!  Hi!"  shouted  Jim  in  his  throat.  A 
thousand  wicked  voices  of  the  storm  answered 
him;  the  cruel  hands  of  the  flood  clutched  him. 
He  sw^ept  on,  closed  his  eyes,  and  in  his  terrified, 
dry  little  mind  thought: 

"  I  reckon  that's  about  all  of  me!  " 

And  then,  somehow,  miraculously,  he  too  was 
caught  and  held.  True,  the  waters  were  pound- 
ing him,  he  was  smothering  with  the  spray,  but 
at  least  he  wras  not  being  tossed  over  the  brink. 
He  thrust  out  desperate  hands  and  clutched  the 
obstruction.  It  was  a  tree  in  full  leaf,  which  had 
been  swept  from  the  upper  fall  and  had  some- 
how snarled  there  on  the  rocks.  It  was  what 
had  saved  Mac,  and  at  the  end  of  a  frightened, 
determined  struggle,  Jim,  standing  ankle  deep, 
in  the  red  mud  of  the  road,  knew  that  it  had 
saved  him  too.  And  there,  at  his  hand,  tremb- 
ling, but  safe,  was  good  old  Mac. 

It  seemed  strange  to  Jim  that  his  throat  could 
be  so  dry  when  his  very  skin  was  soaking  and 
the  heavens  were  emptying  torrents  all  about 


THE  KIDNAPPING  157 

him,  but  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  shriek  out: 
"Hi!    Oh,  Hi!" 

No  voice  answered.  "  He's  gone,"  sobbed 
Jim.  "  He's  gone  over  the  fall!  Oh,  what  shall 
I  do?" 

But  just  then  above  the  road  came  a  sharp 
voice  in  his  ears. 

"  Shut  up  there,  ninny!     I'm  here  all  right." 

"Where?    Where?" 

"  Where  you'll  step  on  me  if  you  don't  watch 
out.  I  guess  my  arm's  broke,  Jim.  Nannie 
went  down  at  the  ford,  but  she  got  out  and  ran 
away  from  me.  Piked  for  home,  I  guess.  I  hit 
something,  and  crawled  out,  and  then  I  sort  o' 
went  to  sleep.  One  arm's  acting  funny — it 
won't  work." 

"  Oh,  Hi,"  cried  Jim,  "  never  mind  if  your 
arm  is  broke;  that  can  be  mended.  But  if  you'd 
gone  over  —  " 

"  No  glue  would  mend  me  then,"  answered 
Hi.  He  struggled  to  his  feet,  and  the  two  boys 
went  on  in  the  darkness.  They  left  Mac  to 
plunge  up  the  road,  as  best  suited  him.  Both 
had  cast  away  their  lanterns  after  the  rain  and 
wind  had  put  out  the  light,  and  they  tramped  on 
in  the  blur  of  mist  which  told  them  that  they 


158  AZALEA 

were  in  the  very  heart  of  a  cloud.  Sometimes 
Hi  could  not  keep  back  a  groan,  though  he  tried 
manfully. 

"  You  just  brace  up,  Hi,  you  hear?  "  said  Jim 
with  affectionate  roughness.  "  You're  in  luck 
to  only  break  one  bone.  My  goodness,  what's 
one  bone  when  you've  hundreds  of  'em  in  your 
body?" 

Hi  set  his  strong  white  teeth  together  and 
trudged  on.  The  way  seemed  like  an  endless  bad 
dream.  But  finally  he  heard  Jim  say:  "We're 
here."  And  they  were.  They  were  in  the  good 
dry  cabin,  and  Hi  had  sunk  on  the  settle  while 
Jim  lighted  the  lamps  and  lit  the  fire.  That 
done,  he  went  out  to  the  horse  shed  and  came 
back  with  the  cheering  news  that  both  horses 
were  in  their  stalls. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  let's  see  what  we  can 
do  about  your  arm.  I  know  there's  arnica  in 
the  house." 

"Arnica!"  cried  Hi  in  anguished  contempt. 
"  Do  you  think  rubbing  will  do  that  any  good?  " 
He  dangled  the  limp  lower  arm  before  Jim's 
horrified  gaze. 

"  No,"  said  a  gruff  voice,   "  rubbing  won't 


THE  KIDNAPPING  159 

help  it  none,  but  setting  will,  and  I'm  the  man 
to  do  it  for  you." 

The  boys  turned  as  quick  as  owls,  and  there, 
standing  in  the  doorway  was  a  tall,  dripping 
man  in  homespun  mountain  clothes. 

"Why,  Buck  Bab!"  cried  Jim,  "Where  did 
you  come  from?  " 

Hi's  eyes  started  from  his  head. 

"  Ain't  you  the  man  that  chased  me  with  a  gun 
the  other  night?  "  he  asked. 

Bab  wrung  the  rain  out  of  his  hair  and  grinned 
at  Hi. 

"  Maybe  I  am,"  he  said,  "  and  maybe  I  ain't. 
But  one  thing's  certain:  I'm  going  to  set  that 
there  arm  of  yours,  son."  To  Jim  he  said, 
"  You  go  find  me  a  shingle.  Rip  one  off  the 
house  if  you  can't  do  any  other  way,  and  I'll 
take  the  liberty  of  tearing  up  one  of  your  ma's 
old  sheets."  He  bustled  about  the  cabin  getting 
everything  in  readiness,  and  then  he  came  over 
to  Hi,  smiling  curiously. 

"  'Twon't  be  very  bad,"  he  said  almost  ten- 
derly. He  stooped  over  him  and  seemed  to  tap 
him  gently  on  the  jaw  somewhere  below  the  ear. 
Jim  couldn't  make  out  what  was  going  on.  Sud- 
denly Hi  seemed  to  be  asleep,  and  he  was  mak- 


160  AZALEA 

ing  no  objection  at  all  as  Buck  Bab's  great  hands 
busied  themselves  with  drawing  the  broken  arm 
from  the  coat  and  shirt  that  hampered  them. 

"What  have  you  done,  Buck  Bab!"  de- 
manded Jim,  thoroughly  frightened.  "  What's 
the  matter  with  Hi?  " 

"  Now,  don't  worry,  McBirney,"  answered 
Bab  gruffly.  "  I  just  fixed  your  friend  so  he 
wouldn't  be  inconvenienced  by  what  I'm  about 
to  do.  He's  just  taking  a  little  nap  to  order. 
He'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute  or  two,  and  by 
that  time  I'll  have  his  arm  set  as  tight  as  a  trap. 
You  didn't  want  to  hear  his  hollering  and  cry- 
ing, did  you?  " 

"No  —  o,"  said  Jim  doubtfully.  He  drew 
nearer  to  his  friend  and  stood  there  ready  to 
give  any  help  that  Bab  should  need. 

In  ten  minutes  it  was  all  over.  The  arm  was 
in  place  and  held  there  safely  with  bandages 
and  splints.  Hi's  wet  clothes  had  been  dragged 
from  him  and  he  had  been  wrapped  in  a  warm 
blanket.  His  eyes  began  to  flutter  and  a  sick 
look  to  come  into  his  white  face. 

"  Lie  still,"  growled  Bab  to  him,  "  and  think 
of  nothing.  And  you,  McBirney,  I  suppose  you 
come  up  here  to  look  after  the  stock.    Well,  get 


THE  KIDNAPPING  161 

out  that  lantern  and  find  the  milk  pails,  and  I'll 
help  you.  After  we've  fixed  up  the  animals, 
we'll  get  some  supper." 

"  Well,"  thought  Jim  to  himself,  as  he  obeyed 
the  man,  "  who  would  believe  it?  I  know  pa 
wouldn't,  and  I  don't  believe  ma  would,  though 
she  always  says  there's  some  good  in  everybody. 
Buck  Bab  a  moonshiner,  and  not  denying  it! 
And  yet  here  he  is,  helping  me  out!  It  seems 
like  a  night  with  a  lot  of  queer  dreams  in  it. 
Oh,  my!  Poor  Zalie!  Oh,  Zalie,  where  can 
you  be! " 


CHAPTER  IX 

HAYSTACK  THOMPSON 

Haystack  Thompson  lay  in  bed  making  un- 
complimentary remarks  about  the  rain. 

"  It's  just  took  away  the  last  chanct  we  had 
of  following  up  that  poor  little  mountain  lass," 
said  he  to  his  old  clock.  "  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
this  tarnation  storm  I'd  'a'  tramped  back  to  that 
there  dell  where  I  come  on  them  two  lasses 
making  eyes  at  that  rattler,  and  it  would  have 
been  mighty  funny  if  I  couldn't  have  found  out 
something  about  what  happened  there." 

He  reached  out  for  his  bag  of  tobacco,  and 
filling  his  pipe  and  lighting  it,  tried  to  bring 
some  cheer  into  his  damp  cabin  by  smoking  very 
hard. 

"  I'd  have  gone  over  the  whole  ground,"  he 
mused.  "  I'd  'a'  pretended  I  was  walking  on 
with  that  nice  little  Miss  Carin,  talking  and 
smiling;  I'd  thought  out  how  the  other  lass  hung 
behind,  looking  at  the  trees  and  flowers,  and  I'd 
never  have  give  up  till  I  made  out  why  she 

162 


HAYSTACK  THOMPSON  163 

didn't  reach  that  church.  But  here  we  are, 
everything  swept  smooth  as  sandpaper  with  the 
storm!  " 

He  fell  to  wishing  that  for  once  in  his  life 
there  was  some  one  to  build  the  fire  for  him  and 
get  the  breakfast. 

"  It's  lonesome  business,"  said  he  aloud,  "  be- 
ing pa  and  ma  and  all  the  children  just  by  your- 
self. Looks  hoggish,  now,  don't  it?  I  wish  I'd 
divided  up  and  just  been  the  man  of  the  house, 
and  let  some  other  folks  take  the  rest  of  the 
parts.  I'm  a  no-count  old  fool,  anyhow.  No 
one  but  a  plumb  idiot  would  'a'  let  that  there 
girl  be  snatched  away  like  that  yesterday.  A 
blamed,  sapless  old  fool,  that's  what  I  be!  Me 
with  nothing  but  a  fiddle  to  give  me  an  excuse 
for  living!  For  my  farming  would  make  you 
sick  to  look  at.  The  neighbors  snigger  when 
they  see  it.  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that 
now,  for  a  man  to  reach  my  age  and  have  noth- 
ing but  a  fiddle  that  he  cares  for!  " 

He  flung  out  of  bed  in  disgust,  whipped  into 
his  old  clothes,  lighted  the  fire  —  which  pro- 
ceeded to  smoke  badly  —  and  got  out  his  bacon 
and  his  bag  of  meal. 

"  I'm  just  plumb  tired  of  cooking  alone,"  he 


1 64  AZALEA 

announced  to  a  squirrel  that  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment before  his  door,  sitting  erect  on  his 
haunches  and  casting  a  wistful  glance  from  his 
bright  eyes.  Haystack  tossed  him  some  ground 
nuts  which  he  kept  in  a  bag  for  that  purpose, 
and  then  turned  angrily  to  his  own  meal.  Half- 
way through  it,  he  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork, 
and  a  light  broke  over  his  face. 

"  I  know  what  I'll  do,"  he  said,  "  I'll  go  find 
that  little  lass.  I'll  make  myself  of  some  use, 
that's  what  I'll  do.  See  here,  Betsy,"  he  went 
on,  turning  to  his  violin  and  speaking  to  it  as 
if  it  were  a  little  sister,  "  you  and  me'll  start  out 
and  find  that  there  poor  lass,  you  hear?  We've 
been  playing  stick-in-the-mud  about  long 
enough.  What  we  need  is  to  get  a  move  on  us 
and  to  go  out  and  see  something  of  the  world. 
What  you  say,  Bet?" 

Just  then  a  log  fell  on  the  hearth,  and  from 
Betsy's  answering  strings  came  forth  a  delicate 
wail.  Haystack  took  it  to  mean  that  they 
should  go,  and  when  he  had  made  his  cabin 
tidy  —  and  he  took  much  more  pains  with  it 
than  usual  —  he  put  on  clean  homespun,  packed 
a  change  of  clothing  in  a  square  of  blue  denim, 
fastened  this  to  a  stick  which  he  threw  over  his 


HAYSTACK  THOMPSON  165 

shoulder,  and  taking  Betsy  under  the  other  arm, 
started  out  on  a  quest. 

At  about  the  same  time  the  sheriff  at  Lee 
and  Pa  McBirney  and  Mr.  Carson  and  Elder 
Mills  and  Mr.  Pickett  and  a  great  many  other 
persons  were  bestirring  themselves  to  the  same 
end.  They  telegraphed  here  and  they  tele- 
phoned there,  and  all  over  the  county  the  good 
neighbors  were  keeping  an  outlook.  Ma  Mc- 
Birney and  Mrs.  Carson  kept  together  and 
talked  over  this  and  that  phase  of  the  matter, 
and  both  of  them  poured  out  their  kind  hearts  in 
good  wishes,  as  if  their  love  would  build  a  wall 
around  the  lost  child  to  keep  her  from  harm. 

"  Let  no  evil  touch  her,  dear  Lord,"  prayed 
Mary  McBirney  over  and  over  again.  "  Thy 
power  is  everywhere,  and  Thy  love  is  all  pro- 
tecting. Spread  Thy  love  about  her  like  a  cloak 
and  keep  her  from  harm." 

And  that  was  just  about  the  time  that  Azalea, 
aroused  from  her  thin  and  worried  sleep  by  the 
first  streaks  of  the  dawn  that  streamed  to  her 
over  the  level  low  country,  drew  the  dirty  bed- 
clothes closer  about  her  chin,  and  tried  to  make 
out  whether  or  not  it  was  all  a  bad  dream.  Tige, 
the  bulldog,  crouching  there  at  the  tent  door, 


1 66  AZALEA 

and  snarling  if  she  but  moved,  certainly  seemed 
like  a  nightmare.  Betty  Bowen  with  her 
frowsy  head  and  her  horrid  red  flannel  bed- 
gown, sleeping  with  her  mouth  open  on  the 
shake-down  next  to  Azalea,  and  the  miserable 
old  show  wagon  outside,  with  lumbering  Rafe 
Bowen,  the  son  of  Betty,  snoring  in  rivalry  to 
the  robins  —  not  that  his  opera  in  any  way  re- 
sembled theirs  —  was  something  worse  than  or- 
dinary nightmare. 

"  It  isn't  a  dream,"  sighed  Azalea,  with  deep, 
terrible  conviction.    "  It's  true." 

She  went  over  the  sharp  little  drama  of  all 
that  had  happened  the  day  before;  remembered 
the  sweet  hollow  in  the  woods  where  she  and 
Carin  had  gone,  the  fright  they  had  had  at  the 
snake,  the  appearance  of  that  queer,  kind  old 
Haystack  Thompson;  she  remembered  how  she 
had  followed  them  a  little  way,  and  then  had 
stopped  for  some  wake  robins  which  were  grow- 
ing in  a  sunny  little  spot  and  which  she  had 
thought  would  look  lovely  at  Ma  McBirneys' 
belt;  and  then  had  come  the  strange  whimper- 
ing of  an  animal  in  pain.  She  had  thought  it  a 
dog  caught  in  a  rabbit  trap,  and  she  had  gone 
toward  it,  and  as  she  went  on,  the  sound  seemed 


HAYSTACK  THOMPSON  167 

to  move  too,  and  it  grew  more  agonizing  as  if 
the  animal  were  being  tortured  beyond  anything 
it  could  stand.  And  then,  suddenly,  from  among 
the  great  trees,  had  come  Sisson,  the  "  show- 
man," her  old  enemy.  He  had  his  huge  hand 
ever  her  mouth  in  a  minute,  and  had  pushed 
her  before  him,  making  her  run  against  her  will, 
and  presently  they  were  among  all  the  old  com- 
panions of  her  wandering  years.  Rafe  Bowen, 
who  had  run  away  three  years  before,  was  back 
too.  He  was  a  big  fellow  with  broad  shoulders 
and  a  sullen  face.  And  there  was  a  new  woman 
—  to  take  her  mother's  place,  Azalea  thought. 
They  had  laughed  at  her  and  told  Sisson  not  to 
be  too  rough  with  her. 

"  You  treat  her  like  she  was  a  mad  steer, 
Hank,"  Betty  Bowen  had  said.  "  Don't  scare 
the  young  un  like  that." 

Sisson  let  go  of  her  and  pushing  her  a  little 
way  from  him  broke  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  It 
made  cold  chills  run  over  the  girl.  She  knew 
that  when  Sisson  laughed  it  was  when  some  one 
else  was  in  trouble.  Nearly  the  only  thing  he 
really  enjoyed  was  tormenting  some  one. 

"  She  ran  out  to  meet  me,"  he  cried,  roaring 
with  that  cruel  laughter,  his  eyes  full  of  evil 


1 68  AZALEA 

pleasure.  "Just  toddled  out  to  meet  me,  she 
did.  You  never  saw  anything  like  it.  Couldn't 
stay  away  from  her  old  friend,  Zalie  couldn't. 
Once  a  show  girl  always  a  show  girl,  eh?  " 

Azalea  had  been  learning  lessons  of  self-con- 
trol since  she  had  been  with  Mary  McBirney, 
but  now  her  old-time  temper  flamed  up  in  her. 
She  felt  the  familiar  wave  of  fire  sweeping 
across  her  brain  and  she  screamed  out  angry 
things  at  Sisson. 

"  I'm  no  show  girl !  "  she  protested.  "  I  never 
wanted  to  be  a  show  girl.  I  think  you  are 
wicked,  wicked,  Hank  Sisson!  You've  taken 
me  away  from  the  best  people  I  ever  knew  and 
they'll  be  so  frightened!  Oh,  please,  Mrs. 
Bowen,  make  him  let  me  go.  Oh,  Hank  Sisson 
I  hate  you!  I  hate  you!  Oh,  why  isn't  my 
mamma  alive?  You  wouldn't  dare  treat  me 
like  this  if  she  was  alive.    You  bad,  bad  man! ' 

"  You  can  see  for  yourself  what  a  fine  per- 
former she  is,"  Sisson  sneered.  "  High  tragedy, 
that's  her  line." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Bowen,"  wailed  the  girl,  "  mamma 
was  good  to  you.    Won't  you  help  me?  " 

"  Turning  on  the  tear  taps  now,"  grinned 
Sisson. 


HAYSTACK  THOMPSON  169 

"  Oh,  shut  up,"  snapped  the  new  woman. 
"What  did  you  expect  the  girl  to  do?  Didn't 
think  she'd  rejoice,  did  you?  Leave  her  be,  you 
Sisson.  You've  got  her,  that's  the  main  thing; 
now  give  her  a  chance  to  cool  down  a  little.  I'm 
sorry  for  the  young  un,  that's  what  I  am  —  tak- 
ing her  away  from  a  good  home  to  tag  along 
with  a  lot  like  us!  " 

Sisson  raised  his  heavy  fist  and  made  as  if  to 
strike  the  woman. 

"  You  take  your  choice,"  he  growled.  "  Shut 
up  or  be  shut  up." 

"  While  we're  rowing  around  here,  Hank," 
broke  in  Betty  Bowen,  "  the  folks  will  be  after 
us.    Do  we  carry  out  our  plan,  or  don't  we?  " 

"  We  carry  it  out  and  we  do  it  quick,"  an- 
nounced Sisson.  Nor  was  Azalea  long  in  find- 
ing out  what  the  plan  was.  Taking  it  for 
granted  that  as  soon  as  Azalea  was  missed,  the 
Sisson  All  Star  Combination  would  be  under 
suspicion,  it  was  the  intention  of  Sisson  and  his 
troupe  to  go  on  up  into  the  mountains;  but  Betty 
Bowen  and  her  son  Rafe  were  to  take  the  best 
team  of  horses,  and  the  wagon  with  its  load  of 
conveniences,  hide  by  night  in  the  woods,  and 
then  make  their  way  before  dawn  into  South 


iyo  AZALEA 

Carolina.  The  state  line  was  not  more  than 
twelve  miles  from  where  they  then  were,  and 
once  across  that,  they  were  comparatively  safe. 

This  program  had  been  carried  out  rapidly  — 
more  rapidly,  in  fact,  than  was  at  first  intended. 
Azalea  was  compelled  to  go  in  the  old  covered 
wagon  and  to  lie  down  there  under  a  pile  of 
odds  and  ends.  Betty  sat  beside  her  son  Rafe 
and  directed  their  course.  They  had  struck  an 
old  wood-road,  and  wound  along  through  the 
heart  of  a  silent  forest,  meeting  no  one.  So  much 
more  solitary  was  the  road  than  they  had  sup- 
posed it  would  be  that  Betty  urged  her  son  to 
press  on.  The  horses  were  young  and  strong  — 
a  new  team  which  Azalea  had  not  before  seen  — 
and  the  result  was  that  by  twelve  o'clock  that 
night  they  had  camped  in  an  out-of-the-way 
grove  across  the  line  dividing  the  two  Carolinas. 
The  mountains  were  left  behind,  and  an  almost 
level  plain  stretched  around  them.  But  the  un- 
derbrush in  this  grove  of  poor  trees  was  thick, 
and  as  Betty  intended  to  do  her  cooking  at  night 
and  to  show  no  smoke  from  her  camp  fire  to 
curious  strangers  during  the  day,  they  felt  that 
there  was  little  danger  of  their  being  found. 

The  rain  that  had  drenched  the  valley  of  Lee 


HAYSTACK  THOMPSON  171 

had  thrown  out  no  more  than  a  light  shower 
over  the  spot  where  the  Bowens  kept  Azalea 
prisoner,  and  while  the  girl  lay  on  her  rickety 
bed  wondering  what  had  happened  back  at 
home,  she  did  not  dream  of  the  wild  experiences 
through  which  her  friends  Jim  and  Hi  had  been 
passing.  It  was  not  of  them  that  she  thought 
chiefly  —  though  she  knew  how  they  would  be 
fuming  about  her  and  putting  plans  on  foot  for 
her  recovery  —  but  of  Ma  McBirney  and  her 
anxiety. 

"  I'm  so  used  to  having  bad  times,"  thought 
the  little  girl  wrapping  her  arms  tight  about  her 
body  as  if  for  company,  "  that  I  can  stand  them. 
But  Ma  McBirney  isn't  used  to  them.  She'll 
just  fret  herself  crazy." 

She  had  perfect  confidence  in  the  ability  of 
her  friends  to  find  her.  She  had  thought  all  that 
out  in  that  strange,  dangerous  drive  at  night 
through  the  old  wood-road.  People  like  Pa  Mc- 
Birney and  Mr.  Carson  weren't  the  kind  to  give 
up  hunting  for  her. 

"  I've  just  got  to  lie  low,"  thought  this  child 
who  had  seen  too  much  of  the  ways  of  a  prowl- 
ing company  of  folk,  "  and  take  care  of  myself 
the  best  way  I  can,  and  I'll  be  found.     I'll  be 


172  AZALEA 

back  in  Ma  McBirney's  house  all  right  and 
tight  in  a  little  while.  I'm  going  to  believe  that 
and  say  it  over  and  over.  I'm  not  going  to  be 
scared,  nor  sorry,  nor  anything.  Jim  and  Hi 
will  think  I'm  a  silly  thing  to  let  myself  be 
picked  up  and  carried  away  like  that,  anyway. 
They'll  think  I  haven't  a  bit  of  grit.  But  I'll 
show  them  I'm  not  such  a  stupid  goose  after  all." 

She  made  up  her  mind,  too,  that  she  would 
try  not  to  think  too  much  about  Ma  McBirney. 
If  she  did  she  would  get  to  crying  again,  and 
she  didn't  want  to  cry.  She  wanted  to  think, 
and  to  watch,  and  to  be  wise  and  act  at  the  right 
moment.  And  having  reached  that  conclusion, 
she  sat  up  in  bed  with  something  almost  like 
brightness  on  her  face.  And  at  that  Tige,  the 
bulldog,  sat  up  too  and  showed  all  of  his  teeth 
as  he  gave  a  low  growl.  Tige  was  a  good  dog 
according  to  his  lights;  and  his  lights  told  him 
that  when  his  master,  Rafe  Bowen  —  according 
to  Tige,  the  most  wonderful  master  in  the  world 
—  told  him  to  "  watch,"  why  then,  he  was  to 
watch ;  nay  he  was  to  sleep  with  one  eye  open 
and  both  ears  alert. 

"  For  goodness  sake,  Tige,"  whispered  Aza- 
lea, leaning  forward  and  putting  out  her  hand 


HAYSTACK  THOMPSON  173 

toward  the  dog,  "  be  sensible,  can't  you?  I've 
got  to  move  sometimes,  haven't  I?" 

Betty  Bowen  threw  her  brown  arms  up  over 
her  frowsy  head. 

"  Keep  still,  you,  Zalie,"  she  snarled  sleepily. 
"  Don't  you  see  I'm  dead  beat?  " 

So  for  two  hours  longer  the  restless  girl  had 
to  lie  still  in  her  bed,  though  it  became  almost 
an  agony  to  do  so,  while  the  tired  show  woman 
slept  on  and  on.  After  a  time,  however,  the  lit- 
tle camp  came  to  life.  Rafe  got  up  and  de- 
manded breakfast.  Betty  straggled  out,  heavy- 
eyed  and  slatternly,  and  set  forth  some  cold  food 
which  Azalea  could  not  swallow.  The  horses 
were  fed,  the  wagon  greased,  and  all  was  got  in 
readiness  for  a  hasty  flight  if  necessary.  Azalea 
helped  as  they  directed  her,  and  she  managed  to 
find  a  chance  to  wash  carefully  as  Ma  McBirney 
had  taught  her,  and  she  combed  her  hair  with  a 
little  side  comb,  and  made  herself  look  as  well 
as  she  could. 

"  You've  got  mighty  fine  ways  since  you've 
been  living  out,"  remarked  Betty  Bowen  teas- 
ingly.  Azalea  looked  at  her  as  candidly  as  she 
would  have  looked  at  Ma  McBirney,  for  some- 


174  AZALEA 

way,  in  spite  of  all  her  anger,  she  was  feeling 
sorry  for  Bet  Bowen  this  morning. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Bowen,"  she  said.  "  I  have  been 
taught  some  nice  ways.  Mrs.  McBirney  is  the 
neatest  woman  you  ever  saw.  Of  course  my 
own  mamma  tried  to  teach  me  things,  but  what 
was  the  use,  when  we  didn't  have  any  way  to 
keep  nice?  You  can't  keep  clean  and  fresh  on 
the  road,  can  you?  " 

Betty  looked  at  the  girl  in  sullen  surprise. 
She  had  not  expected  to  be  met  in  this  neigh- 
borly fashion.  She  thought  to  herself  that  if 
she  were  being  held  a  prisoner,  no  one  could 
get  her  to  "  chirk  up  "  like  that. 

"  No,  you  bet  you  can't,"  she  said  in  answer 
to  the  girl's  question.  "  Now  me,  I  used  to  wash 
my  hair  and  brush  it,  and  keep  my  hands  pretty. 
I  wasn't  always  a  battered  old  ship  of  the  desert 
like  I  be  now."  Bet  could  be  rather  picturesque 
in  her  speech  when  she  had  a  mind.  "  Fact  is, 
I  reckon  I  had  too  much  good  looks  and  too  lit- 
tle sense  once  on  a  time.  Both  the  sense  and  the 
looks  have  been  knocked  out  of  me  now.  I 
guess  you  or  anybody  can  see  that." 

"  Whatever  made  vou  take  up  with  this  show 
life,  Mrs.  Bowen?  "  the  girl  asked.    They  were 


HAYSTACK  THOMPSON  175 

sitting  together  then  on  the  ground,  their  little 
odd  tasks  being  all  done.  Azalea  was  playing 
idly  with  some  pine  needles,  braiding  them  to- 
gether after  a  fashion  she  had,  and  weaving  them 
into  a  little  mat.  In  the  old  days  she  would  have 
sat  idle,  but  Ma  McBirney  had  got  her  into  the 
way  of  occupying  herself  with  one  thing  and 
another. 

"  What  made  me  take  to  it?  "  demanded  Bet, 
turning  her  haggard  eyes  on  her  companion, 
"  Why,  the  same  thing  that  made  your  mother 
take  to  it." 

There  was  something  threatening  and  angry 
in  the  way  she  spoke,  and  Azalea  looked  at  her 
with  fear  in  her  eyes.  She  could  feel  her  heart- 
beats fairly  strangling  her,  but  she  had  the 
courage  to  seize  at  the  remark.  Ever  since  she 
was  old  enough  to  think  at  all,  she  had  been 
puzzled  and  bewildered  by  the  things  about 
her.  And  now  it  seemed  she  might  be  told 
something  of  all  she  wished  to  know. 

"  And  why  was  that,  Betty?  "  she  asked  softly. 
"  Why  did  my  mamma  have  to  wander  around 
and  act  in  a  show?  " 

Mrs.  Bowen  drew  an  old  rag  of  a  shawl  about 
her  shoulders  and  leaned  back  against  a  tree. 


176  AZALEA 

She  seemed  to  be  trying  to  make  up  her  mind 
whether  to  tell  this  child  the  truth  or  not.  But 
finally  she  gave  a  little  nod. 

"  I'm  just  going  to  up  and  tell  you  why,"  she 
said.  "  I  think  it's  coming  to  you  to  know.  She 
did  it  because  she  married  a  poor  shiftless  coot 
of  a  man,  the  black  sheep  of  a  way-up  family, 
and  she  done  it  against  the  wishes  of  all  her 
folks.  She  ran  away  from  home  with  him,  and 
she  took  care  of  him  while  he  lazed  around  and 
wouldn't  do  nothing,  and  she  looked  after  him 
like  he  was  the  best  man  in  the  world,  and  stuck 
to  him  when  he  gambled  away  all  she  earned. 
And  then  you  was  born,  and  she  had  to  run  away 
from  him  to  get  money  enough  to  care  for  you." 

"  Oh,"  gasped  Azalea,  her  hand  at  her  heart 
and  a  sick  feeling  stealing  over  her. 

"  And  I  will  say,"  went  on  Bet,  "  that  she 
cared  for  you  as  tender  as  if  you  was  respectable 
folks  living  in  the  finest  house  in  town.  She  just 
done  the  best  she  could;  and  she  went  along  with 
us  because  we  didn't  object  to  having  a  baby  in 
the  troupe.  We  began  training  you  like  a  little 
puppy  as  soon  as  you  had  any  mimicry  in  you, 
and  the  folks  that  came  to  the  show  liked  it. 
Her  and  you  was  drawing  cards,  I  can  tell  you. 


HAYSTACK  THOMPSON  177 

And  for  all  of  her  broken  heart  she  was  nice 
and  cheerful  except  when  we'd  go  to  the  towns 
near  by  where  she  used  to  live.  Then  she  was 
afraid  she'd  meet  some  of  them  that  used  to 
know  her  in  the  old  days.  But  at  last,  when  she 
found  she  was  going  to  die,  she  seemed  glad  we 
was  edging  along  toward  her  home." 

"  And  where  was  that,"  breathed  rather  than 
asked  Azalea.    "  Where  was  her  old  home?  ' 

"  Law,  child,  don't  you  know  that?  Why,  her 
old  home  was  at  Lee.  That's  where  your  grand- 
father Atherton  come  from  —  from  Lee." 

"  My  grandfather  Atherton?  " 

"  Sure,  Zalie.  Didn't  your  ma  tell  you  that? 
Well,  she  was  a  close  one.  I  don't  know  as  she 
told  us  all,  either,  but  we  got  hold  of  the  story 
one  way  and  another.  When  her  father  skipped 
out  to  parts  unknown,  owing  to  some  trouble  he 
got  into  at  the  time  of  the  war,  his  wife  —  she 
was  his  second  wife,  and  only  a  young  thing  — 
went  back  to  her  folks  in  Alabama  for  a  while. 
And  then  they  was  made  so  poor  by  the  war  that 
she  took  shame  to  be  dependent  on  them.  So 
she  came  back  to  this  part  of  the  country,  some- 
where, and  taught  school,  and  took  care  of  her 
little  girl.     And  that  little  girl  was  your  ma. 


178  AZALEA 

She  was  a  pretty  little  thing,  made  to  live  in 
luxury,  I  allow.  I  suppose  she  sort  of  honed 
for  grand  ways  and  grand  clothes.  Anyway, 
when  your  pa,  Jack  Knox,  who  come  of  an  old 
family  and  was  handsome  and  taking,  in  his 
ways,  came  along,  she  married  him.  She  didn't 
know  the  drinking  and  the  shiftlessness  had 
come  down  to  him  as  well  as  the  fine  manners 
and  the  handsome  face.  I  heard  your  grand- 
mother fought  and  fought  against  them  two 
marrying,  but  they  would  have  their  way.  So 
that's  your  story,  missy,  and  I  do  think  it  was 
coming  to  you  to  know  it." 

Azalea  stared  into  the  woman's  face  with 
wide-stretched  eyes. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Bowen.  I 
am  glad  to  know ;  I  do  think  I  had  a  right  to  be 
told.  But  just  think,  I  was  in  that  old  house  the 
other  day  —  that  beautiful  old  house  that  be- 
longed to  my  grandfather.  '  The  Shoals '  it  is 
called.  And  it's  very,  very  queer,  but  I  felt  all 
the  time  as  if  I  had  been  in  it  before.  But  of 
course  I  never  had.  You  can't  inherit  memo- 
ries, can  you  Mrs.  Bowen,  the  way  you  do  the 
features  of  your  face,  or  —  or  habits?  " 

But  at  that  moment,  Betty  Bowen's  great  hulk 


'So  that's  your  story,  missy." 


HAYSTACK  THOMPSON  179 

of  a  son  came  sauntering  back  from  what  he 
called  a  "  spying." 

"  There  ain't  nobody  in  sight  so  far  as  I  can 
make  out,"  he  announced  sullenly.  "  And  now 
suppose  you  two  quiet  down  a  little.  I  want  to 
sleep." 

He  whistled  his  dog  to  him  and  pointed  with 
a  big  forefinger  at  Azalea. 

"  Watch,  Tige,"  he  commanded.  And  he  and 
the  dog  stretched  themselves  side  by  side,  the 
man  to  sleep,  and  the  dog  to  keep  guard. 

Azalea  felt  a  wave  of  trembling  creeping  over 
her,  and  she  turned  her  eyes  once  more  to  Bet. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Bowen,"  she  whispered,  "  what 
have  I  done  that  you  should  treat  me  like  this?  ' 

But  Mrs.  Bowen  lifted  her  finger  in  warning. 

"Just  keep  still,  Zalie,"  she  answered,  also 
under  her  breath,  "  and  you  won't  be  hurt.  Sis- 
son's  a  man  that  hits  back  when  he's  hit.  He 
was  all-fired  mad  at  your  being  took  from  him 
and  he  swore  he'd  have  you  back.  He  seemed 
to  have  to  do  it  to  keep  up  his  pride.  So  now 
he's  got  you,  and  I'm  to  keep  you,  that's  all." 

"  But  how  can  }^ou,  Betty?  How  can  you?  I 
wouldn't  do  anything  mean  to  you." 

Betty  Bowen  looked  at  her  darkly. 


1 80  AZALEA 

"  Sisson  is  kin  of  mine,"  she  said,  as  if  that 
settled  the  question.  "  There  ain't  nobody  else 
in  the  world  for  me  to  turn  to  as  I  know  of." 

A  lump  came  into  Azalea's  throat  as  she 
looked  at  Betty.  To  think  of  having  no  friend 
but  Sisson!  Something  warm  began  to  stir  in 
Azalea's  heart.  She  did  not  know  that  the  name 
of  it  was  pity. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  ESCAPE 

Mrs.  McBirney  sat  at  her  loom.  Eyes,  hands 
and  feet  were  busy;  but  no  matter  how  busy  she 
kept  them  she  could  not  keep  her  mind  and 
heart  at  ease.  She  had  come  back  home  when 
she  found  that  the  search  for  her  missing  girl 
would  be  a  long  one,  and  from  early  morning 
till  late  at  night  she  kept  about  her  tasks.  She 
had  a  theory  that  there  was  nothing  like  work 
to  help  a  troubled  mind  to  forgetfulness,  and 
she  put  her  theory  to  the  full  test. 

Pa  McBirney  went  about  his  tasks,  too,  and 
his  face  grew  careworn  as  he  saw  the  old  rest- 
lessness and  torment  coming  back  in  his  wife's 
face. 

"  That's  just  the  way  she  carried  on  after  your 
sister  Mollie  passed  away,"  he  said  to  Jim. 
"  You  wouldn't  think  she'd  take  Azalea's  loss 
so  hard,  but  then  it's  kind  o'  emptied  her  life 
again." 

"  Well,"  said  Jim  in  an  old  way  he  sometimes 

181 


1 82  AZALEA 

had,  "  if  she  knew  Azalea  was  dead  and  safe, 
perhaps  she  wouldn't  feel  so  dreadful  bad.  But 
not  knowing  where  a  body  is  —  that's  what  1 
call  tormenting.  When  I  think  of  the  things 
that  might  be  happening  to  Azalea  —  her  maybe 
going  hungry  or  being  beat  with  sticks,  or  good- 
ness knows  what  all  —  it  makes  me  as  nervous 
as  a  bat.    Hi's  just  the  same  way,  too." 

Hi's  broken  arm  had  made  it  impossible  for 
him  to  return  to  the  mill,  and  he  was  spending 
his  time  with  the  McBirneys.  He  seemed  to 
be  actually  greedy  to  learn  all  he  could  of  this 
pleasant  home.  He  listened  to  all  Ma  McBir- 
ney  had  to  say,  as  if  her  words  were  gold;  he 
watched  Pa  McBirney  about  his  work;  he 
played  chess  with  Jim  and  studied  Jim's  school- 
books  under  Mrs.  McBirney's  direction. 

Mrs.  McBirney  wrote  home  to  his  mother  for 
him,  and  told  her  all  that  had  happened  to  him. 
At  first  Hi  objected. 

"  My  uncle  Hank  Sisson  will  be  after  her  first 
chance  he  gets,  to  find  out  where  I  am,  and  if 
she  knows,  he'll  worm  it  out  of  her,"  the  boy 
objected. 

"  That's  neither  here  nor  there,  Hi,"  Ma  Mc- 
Birney had  insisted.    "  She's  just  aching  to  know 


THE  ESCAPE  183 

what's  happening  to  her  boy,  and  I'm  going  to 
let  her  know.  Why,  you  ought  to  be  with  your 
ma,  Hi.  Somehow  or  other  we've  got  to  get  the 
family  down  here.  Now,  when  your  arm's  well, 
you  can  go  back  to  the  mill,  and  perhaps  some 
of  the  other  children  are  old  enough  to  take  a 
hand  too;  and  what  with  all  the  tourists  that 
come  to  Lee,  your  ma  could  sure  find  work — ■ 
washing,  or  sewing,  or  some  such  thing." 

"  Oh,  my,  wouldn't  that  be  fun!  "  sighed  Hi. 

"  See  here,  Mary,"  Pa  McBirney  had  broke 
in,  "  what  makes  you  lift  up  that  boy's  hopes  the 
way  you  do?  Like  as  not  they'll  all  be  dashed 
to  earth." 

"  What  a-way  should  they  be  dashed  for, 
father?  Ain't  it  right  that  Hi  and  his  ma  should 
be  together?  And  don't  you  believe  that  what's 
right  will  come  to  pass?  " 

Pa  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "  I  don't  know 
as  that  has  been  according  to  my  experience," 
he  said. 

"  Of  course  it  has,  Thomas.  You  know  it  has ! 
And  everything's  going  to  come  right  for  Hi  — 
and  for  Azalea,  Thomas  —  and  for  you  and  Jim 
and  me!  You'll  see!  You  mustn't  break  down 
my  faith,  Thomas." 


1 84  AZALEA 

And  Thomas  McBirney,  looking  at  her  face 
with  its  look  as  of  a  light  burning  through  it, 
knew  that  he  must  not,  indeed. 

The  second   Saturday  after  Azalea's   disap- 
pearance, a  letter  came  to  the  Lee  post  office  for 
Pa  McBirney  from  Haystack  Thompson.     It 
read  like  this. 
"  Deer  Nabor: 

"  How  many  wagons  did  the  Sisson  All  Star 
Combinashun  have  when  you  saw  them  last? 
Adres  me  with  the  show. 

C.  W.  Thompson." 

Pa  McBirney  made  use  of  the  telegraph  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  being  moved  to  the  act 
by  the  insistence  of  Mr.  Carson.  He  responded 
briefly: 

"  There  were  three  wagons.  Why?  Wire  my 
expense." 

And  the  answer  came : 

"  Because  now  he's  got  two  only.  I  am 
fiddling  for  the  show." 

"Good  old  Haystack!"  cried  Mr.  Carson 
when  he  read  the  telegraphic  message.  And  he 
himself  ventured  on  a  dispatch  to  Mr.  Thomp- 
son. 


THE  ESCAPE  185 

"  Keep  on  fiddling,"  he  wired.  "  The  third 
wagon  will  come  back." 

Then  Mr.  Carson  rode  home  hard  with  the 
news  to  his  Carin;  and  Mr.  McBirney  put  his 
tired  horses  up  the  long  mountain  road  to  carry 
the  word  to  his  Mary.  And  Azalea's  friends 
took  heart,  and  hoped  on  and  prayed  on;  and 
the  sheriff  made  his  more  or  less  languid  in- 
quiries, and  the  newspapers  printed  articles,  and 
hundreds  of  people  who  did  not  know  Azalea  at 
all  were  very  much  interested. 

But  all  this  was  not  greatly  helping  Azalea 
through  the  long  days.  They  kept  out  of  sight 
as  much  as  possible  —  Betty  Bowen  and  her  odd 
"  family."  By  creeping  along  old  roads  and 
only  stopping  at  the  most  out-of-the-way  vil- 
lages they  seemed  to  escape  the  curiosity  of  the 
people.  Indeed,  many  of  those  they  came  across 
seemed  not  to  have  energy  enough  for  anything 
so  lively  as  curiosity.  Azalea  always  had  taken 
an  interest  in  the  world,  and  the  best  part  of 
the  old  life  had  been,  to  her,  the  quiet  journeys 
along  the  roads,  with  the  glimpses  they  gave  of 
farmhouses  and  cabins  and  little  towns.  Now 
that  she  had  come  to  know  so  many  warm- 
hearted new  people,  and  that  her  own  heart  was 


1 86  AZALEA 

aglow  with  the  remembrance  of  it  all,  her  inter- 
est in  the  homes  she  passed  was  keener  than  ever. 
So  long  as  she  was  allowed  to  sit  where  she  could 
look  out,  she  did  not  greatly  mind  the  days.  In 
spite  of  the  constant  watch  kept  over  her,  and 
of  the  fact  that  she  had  not  dreamed  it  would  be 
so  long  before  she  was  restored  to  her  friends, 
she  would  not  be  downcast,  and  it  was  only  when 
Bet  gave  the  word  that  they  were  to  halt  and 
go  into  camp  for  a  day  that  the  girl  found  life 
unendurable. 

To  be  sure  she  grew  very  weary  of  going  over 
and  over  the  same  thoughts ;  of  wondering  and 
wondering  why  no  one  came  to  her  aid;  of 
thinking  what  would  happen  to  her  when  they 
had  caught  up  with  Sisson  and  his  show.  But 
when  the  dread  and  the  fear  were  at  their  worst, 
she  remembered  certain  words  that  Ma  Mc- 
Birney  had  spoken  to  her. 

"  No  matter  what  comes  to  you,  Azalea,"  she 
had  told  her  once,  "  you  keep  your  heart  full  of 
God's  light  and  of  God's  love,  and  nothing  can 
really  harm  you.  You  mind  what  I  say,  child. 
You  do  that  and  the  angels  of  the  Lord  will 
compass  you  about." 

If  Betty  Bowen  had  been  her  enemy  she  could 


THE  ESCAPE  187 

have  broken  the  child's  heart,  or  let  her  become 
exposed  to  some  of  those  vague  dangers  which 
Azalea  half  imagined.  But  she  was  not  her 
enemy.  In  her  tired,  discouraged  way  she 
seemed  to  like  her.  And  she  admired  her.  She 
used  to  command  the  child  to  sing  and  Azalea 
sang  the  sweet  songs  she  had  learned  from  Carin 
and  from  Ma  McBirney. 

They  had  crept  up  into  the  mountains  by 
roundabout  ways,  and  were  now  feeling  their 
way  toward  the  Sisson  All  Star  Combination, 
the  precise  location  of  which  they  did  not  know. 
When  Azalea  learned  that,  in  spite  of  herself, 
she  began  to  feel  anxious.  Little  by  little  the 
courage  in  her  heart  oozed  out,  leaving  her  a 
sad  and  trembling  child.  If  the  old-time  wan- 
derings with  the  show  had  been  hateful  to  her 
when  she  was  with  her  mother,  she  knew  they 
would  be  much,  much  more  so  now  that  she  was 
alone  and  unfriended.  It  is  possible  for  chil- 
dren to  feel  black  despair,  and  something  like 
that  came  to  Azalea.  It  was  evident  to  her  that 
her  friends  had  failed  to  get  on  her  track,  and 
in  the  long,  idle,  sodden  hours  of  thought,  she 
decided  that  her  escape  depended  on  herself. 

Little  by  little  the  watch  set  over  her  had 


1 88  AZALEA 

grown  less  strict.  She  had  made  no  attempt  to 
get  away,  and  Betty  and  her  son  had  come  to 
count  her  in  as  a  part  of  their  company.  They 
could  not,  indeed,  imagine  what  would  become 
of  her  should  she  leave  them.  Sour  and  bitter 
as  their  natures  were,  they  really  could  not  help 
liking  this  winsome  girl,  whose  voice  and  man- 
ner seemed  to  speak  to  them  day  by  day  of  bet- 
ter things  than  they  had  ever  known.  And  lik- 
ing her,  they  no  doubt  felt  that  she  liked  them. 
At  least,  as  they  traveled  together,  or  made  camp 
in  some  wild,  beautiful  mountain  cove,  or 
worked  side  by  side  around  the  camp  fire,  she 
gave  no  sign  that  was  not  friendly.  Even  Tige 
had  come  to  watch  her  in  a  spirit  of  defense 
rather  than  of  attack. 

So  one  night  when  they  had  been  sitting  late 
before  the  camp  fire,  and  she  had  gone  into  the 
tent  to  go  to  bed,  she  crept  beneath  the  canvas 
at  the  rear  and  stole  away  through  the  woods. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  the  crackling  of  the  camp 
fire,  she  might  have  been  overheard;  and  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  growing  weakness  which 
kept  poor  weary  Bet  drowsing  sleepily  there  be- 
fore the  blaze,  her  escape  would  soon  have  been 
discovered.     But  as  it  was,  not  even  the  alert 


THE  ESCAPE  189 

Tige  had  a  hint  of  her  going.  He  lay  snoring 
and  nuzzling  before  the  fire,  dimly  aware  that 
his  master  was  near,  and  asking  for  no  greater 
happiness.  And  that  master  sat  there  beside 
him,  his  head  in  his  hands,  thinking  thoughts 
that  for  him  were  strange  indeed.  He  had  come 
back  from  a  life  of  wandering  and  self-indul- 
gence to  prey  upon  his  mother.  She  was  a  clever 
one  —  so  he  put  it  —  and  if  she  wanted  him  to 
keep  out  of  mischief,  let  her  find  some  way  to 
care  for  him!  But  now,  after  these  weeks  in 
the  company  of  the  young  girl  who  looked  out 
at  life  with  kind  and  trusting  eyes,  and  who  was 
polite  even  to  the  woman  who  kept  her  prisoner, 
Rafe  began  to  see  things  in  a  different  light.  He 
had  meant  to  torment  that  girl,  and  he  had 
thought  that  he  would  have  pleasure  in  doing 
it.  But  he  had,  someway,  not  been  able  to  carry 
out  his  intention.  She  had  seen  through  him  — 
had  believed  in  his  good  nature  in  spite  of  every- 
thing. And  he  knew  now  that  he  wanted  to  be 
the  way  she  thought  him.  He  wanted  her  to 
think  of  him  as  something  besides  a  bully  and 
jailer.  He  wished  his  mother  were  different 
from  what  she  was;  wished  from  the  bottom  of 
his  heart  that  the  two  of  them  were  something 


190  AZALEA 

better  than  wandering  vagabonds.  If  they  had 
lived  in  a  proper  house,  if  his  father  had  not  left 
them,  if  he  could  have  had  a  sister  like  Azalea, 
he  would  have  made  a  very  different  fellow  of 
himself  from  what  he  was. 

He  wondered  if,  after  all,  it  was  too  late. 
There  were  things  he  knew  how  to  do.  If  his 
mother  would  give  up  this  wandering  and  settle 
down  in  some  quiet  little  place  and  keep  Azalea 
with  her,  and  if  they  could  have  really  good 
things  to  eat,  and  a  hearth  to  sit  before  rainy 
nights,  and  clothes  that  were  decent  and  clean, 
why  perhaps,  after  all,  a  fellow  could  "  get 
shet "  of  the  drinking  of  corn  whiskey  and  the 
gambling  and  all.  Rafe  was  young  still,  and 
the  little  kind  angel  of  his  better  impulses  had 
not  all  been  slain  by  his  black  selfishness  and  his 
coarse  appetites.  So  he  sat  and  dreamed  before 
the  fire,  and  was  somehow  washed  almost  inno- 
cent again  by  the  great  sea  of  goodness  that  for- 
ever stretches  about  us,  and  in  which  we  may,  if 
we  will,  bathe  and  purify  ourselves.  The  night 
and  the  stars,  the  wind  and  the  fire  were  there 
to  help  him  find  himself.  And  while  he 
dreamed,  Azalea  clipped  on  through  the  thick- 
growing  laurel,  skirted  a  little  spring-fed  pond, 


THE  ESCAPE  191 

and  finding  the  wagon-road,  fled  down  the 
mountain  with  feet  that  felt  as  light  as  feathers 
—  as  light  as  her  heart.  All  of  her  courage  had 
come  rushing  back.  She  said  to  herself  that  she 
would  never  be  taken  again  —  never.  She  was 
not  going  to  have  her  life  spoiled.  It  was  her 
life  and  she  meant  to  "  run  it "  to  suit  herself. 
And  as  she  fled,  it  seemed  as  if  the  little  brown, 
thin  hands  of  her  dead  mother  were  held  out  to 
help  her;  and  as  if  the  strong,  kind  hands  of 
Ma  McBirney  were  stretched  in  welcome;  and 
the  good,  freckled  hands  of  Jim  and  Hi  beat 
together  in  encouragement. 

Yes,  they  were  patting  "  juba  "  for  her,  were 
Jim  and  Hi,  and  to  the  patter,  patter,  her  feet 
sped  on.  She  was  not  afraid  of  the  night.  She 
liked  it.  The  stars  saw  what  she  was  doing  and 
were  glad.  The  night  bird  that  called  out,  kept 
the  woods  from  being  too  solitary.  The  very 
wind  was  in  her  favor,  and  pushed  at  her  back. 
Sometimes  she  stopped  to  rest,  and  she  would 
have  liked  to  sleep.  But  it  seemed  foolish  to  do 
that.    The  point  now,  was  to  get  safe  away. 

"  I  was  caught  napping  once,"  she  said  to 
herself  with  a  dry  little  laugh,  "  but  I  don't  mean 
to  be  again." 


192  AZALEA 

Along  toward  morning  she  came  on  a  little 
village  —  one  she  had  not  seen  before.  There 
was  not  a  light  anywhere,  but  the  houses  clus- 
tered together  like  comfortable  sheep  in  the 
darkness,  and  she  felt  happier  for  being  among 
them.  Now  that  she  was  safe  with  these  other 
human  creatures,  her  weariness  and  sleepiness 
almost  overcame  her.  It  was  growing  chilly  as 
the  morning  air  quickened  —  though  as  yet  there 
was  no  hint  in  the  sky  of  coming  light  —  and 
she  shivered  in  her  thin  clothes.  She  still  wore 
the  white  frock  that  had  been  so  dainty  and 
sweet  the  day  of  the  Singing,  but  which  was  now 
a  dusty  rag.  Her  hat  she  had  left  behind  her. 
The  hair  Ma  McBirney  had  taught  her  to  brush 
every  night  was  full  of  the  dust  of  the  road.  All 
of  that  pleasant  cleanliness  which  she  recently 
had  been  taught,  had  been  of  necessity  lost  in 
the  life  she  had  been  leading.  She  felt  ashamed 
as  she  thought  how  she  would  look  to  strangers, 
who  probably  would  think  her  a  miserable  vaga- 
bond. However,  her  state  could  be  remedied 
in  time.  Now  the  thing  was  to  get  in  out  of  the 
cold;  for  she  was  drenched  with  sweat  and  her 
damp  clothes  clung  to  her. 

She  turned  into  one  of  the  little  yards,  and 


THE  ESCAPE  193 

going  around  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  tried  the 
handle  of  a  shed  door.  It  yielded,  and  she 
stepped  into  a  dark  little  room  smelling  of  fire- 
wood. At  the  far  side  was  an  open  door,  and 
she  groped  her  way  to  it  and  stood  on  a  little 
framed-in  porch  with  wire  netting  on  the  one 
exposed  side.  And  there,  neatly  made,  was  a 
cot  bed,  waiting,  it  seemed,  for  some  weary  child 
to  crawl  in  between  its  warm  blankets.  Azalea 
took  off  her  worn  and  dusty  shoes  and  her  dis- 
graceful frock,  and  stretched  herself  between  the 
comforts.     The   next   moment   she   was   sound 

asleep. 

***** 

A  few  hours  later,  the  Sisson  All  Star  Com- 
bination, rattling  down  the  mountain  side,  came 
upon  the  wagon  and  the  tent  of  Betty  Bowen, 
ranged  side  by  side  in  a  comfortable  little  pocket 
away  back  from  the  road  —  the  same  road  that 
Azalea  had  taken  a  mile  lower  down,  after  her 
hurried  taking  of  the  short  cuts. 

Sisson  greeted  the  encampment  with  a  whoop, 
and  brought  Rafe,  shock-headed  and  heavy- 
eyed,  from  his  bed  of  straw  in  the  wagon. 

"  Well,"  said  Sisson,  "  you  ain't  getting  up 
early  to  hang  out  the  wash,  be  you?  Where's 
Bet?    Where's  the  girl?" 


194  AZALEA 

Rafe  pointed  at  the  tent  with  his  thumb. 

"  In  there,  I  reckon.  We  all  sat  late  last 
night  around  the  fire." 

"  Huh!  Mighty  social,  ain't  you?  Had  any 
trouble  with  that  girl?  " 

Rafe  frowned  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,  get  'em  out  of  the  tall  grass,"  com- 
manded Sisson.     "  I  want  to  see  'em." 

Rafe  went  to  the  tent  door  and  called,  but  Bet 
was  sleeping  heavily,  and  her  son,  looking  at  her 
jaded  face,  hesitated  to  arouse  her.  It  was 
Azalea  whom  Sisson  wanted  to  see,  and  Rafe 
said  to  himself  that  Sisson  would  have  to  treat 
her  well,  or  there  would  be  trouble.  He  could 
see  the  girl's  bed  bunched  up  as  if  she  were 
rolled  underneath  the  bed  clothes,  but  when  he 
called  there  was  no  answer,  and  at  last,  half 
frightened,  he  went  over  to  awaken  her.  But 
when  he  got  closer  he  discovered  there  was  no 
one  in  the  bed.  The  clothes  were  tossed  up  as 
if  some  one  lay  there,  and  he  saw  at  a 
glance  that  they  had  been  purposely  made  to 
look  that  way.  For  a  minute  his  heart  sank; 
and  then,  suddenly,  with  a  strange  new  unselfish- 
ness, it  lightened.  Azalea  had  slipped  from 
Sisson's  clutches  after  all.    Rafe  drew  his  belt  a 


THE  ESCAPE  195 

little  tighter,  pushed  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  going  out,  faced  the  company. 

"  The  girl's  lit  out,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  What?  "  screamed  Sisson.  And  before  Rafe 
could  say  more,  a  man  —  the  tallest,  it  seemed 
to  Rafe,  that  he  ever  had  set  his  eyes  upon,  came 
stalking  around  from  behind  one  of  the  wagons. 
He  was  hatless,  and  revealed  a  startling  shock 
of  hair,  and  underneath  his  arm  he  carried  a 
fiddle  in  its  case. 

"What  you  say,  you  speckled  cub?"  he 
roared. 

"  The  girl's  lit  out,"  Rafe  repeated.  He 
grinned  at  them  cheerfully,  and  was  still  grin- 
ning as  Sisson  advanced  with  fight  in  his  eye. 

"  Ain't  you  onto  your  job  any  better  than 
that?  "  he  yelled,  still  coming  on.  Rafe  looked 
almost  languid  as  he  watched  him,  but  just  as 
Sisson  got  ready  for  a  rush  at  him,  the  great  arm 
of  the  young  mountaineer  shot  forward,  striking 
his  "  boss  "  cleanly  between  the  eyes.  And  down 
in  the  dust  went  the  head  of  the  Sisson  All  Star 
Combination.  Every  one  except  the  man  with 
the  violin  laughed.  He  seemed  hardly  to  have 
noticed  Sisson's  downfall.    He  turned  his  pierc- 


196  AZALEA 

ing  eyes  on  the  young  man  and  said  in  a  voice 
as  cold  and  keen  as  a  sword-edge: 

"  Tell  me  where  the  girl  is." 

That  new,  strange  gathering  of  little  good  an- 
gels conspired  again  to  make  Rafe  answer: 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  She  went  into  that  tent 
last  night.  That's  the  last  I  seen  of  her.  I  didn't 
set  the  dog  to  watch  last  night —  I  got  tired  of 
treating  that  little  thing  like  she  was  a  convict. 
So  she's  slipped  away." 

Something  very  like  applause  came  from  the 
All  Stars,  and  it  grew  a  little  louder  as  Bet,  hav- 
ing been  awakened  by  the  noise,  appeared  at  the 
door.  They  were  giving  her  credit,  she  under- 
stood, for  having  connived  at  the  child's  escape. 

"  But  she  may  be  near  at  hand,"  continued  the 
man  with  the  fiddle. 

"  I  reckon  not,  sir.  Her  bed  was  fixed  up  to 
look  like  she  was  in  it.    She's  lit  out  all  right." 

"  Then  I'll  do  the  same,"  said  Haystack 
Thompson.  He  reached  in  one  of  the  wagons 
and  drew  out  a  few  clothes  tied  in  a  square  of 
homespun.  "  So  long,  folks,"  he  said.  "  Hope 
you'll  enjoy  yourselves." 

The  All  Stars  stared  and  forgot  their  man- 
ners, so  that  "  Haystack  "  had  to  make  his  way 


THE  ESCAPE  197 

on  down  the  mountain  with  no  one  to  say  good- 
bye. 

"  So  he  was  spying  out  the  girl  the  whole 
time!  "  said  they  to  each  other. 

But  what  they  thought  or  knew  was  of  no 
consequence  to  Haystack  now.  He  swung  on 
down  the  road,  peering  here  and  there,  and 
hallooing  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  every  few  min- 
utes. 

"Zalie!  Zalie  McBirney!"  he  shouted. 
"  Where  you  hiding?  This  is  ole  Haystack 
come  to  take  you  home.  Don't  be  afeard,  Zalie. 
Answer  up,  that's  a  good  girl." 

But  no  answer  came;  and  a  couple  of  hours 
later  when  he  had  reached  the  contented  little 
town  of  Barrington,  he  went  to  the  telegraph 
office  and  with  the  help  of  the  obliging  young 
operator  sent  this  message  to  Mr.  Carson. 

"  Found  the  third  wagon,  but  not  the  girl. 
Search  party  going  out  to-day." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  SUMMERS  FAMILY 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Absalom  Summers,  pastor  of 
the  Methodist  church  at  Barrington,  N.  C,  got 
up  out  of  his  bed  singing.  He  went  to  his  bath 
singing,  and  singing  he  hastened  to  the  kitchen 
to  build  the  fire  for  breakfast. 

"  A  mighty  fortress  is  our  Lord,"  he  shouted 
to  the  clear,  bright  morning. 

"  A  bulwark  nev-ev-er  fail-11-ing." 

He  did  not  even  stop  singing  when  he  knocked 
his  head  against  the  shed  door.  Indeed,  he 
would  have  felt  a  little  lonesome  if  he  had  not 
hit  it  against  that  jamb,  for  that  battering  of  his 
blond  head  was  a  part,  so  to  speak  of  the  morn- 
ing ritual.  He  loomed  six  feet  three  in  his 
knitted  hose,  and  as  the  door  was  only  six  feet  in 
height,  difficulties  of  one  sort  or  another  were 
unavoidable.  As  yet,  the  door  casing  had  re- 
sisted all  attacks.  All  the  Rev.  Absalom  said 
was  "  Ouch!  Giminy  cricket!  "  And  then  with 
increased  vigor  he  continued: 

198 


THE  SUMMERS  FAMILY         199 

"  Our  helper  he,  amid  the  flood 
Of  mortal  ills  pre-vail-11-ing. 
For  still  our  ancient  foe, 
Doth  seek  to  work  us  woe  —  " 

The  song  died  —  not  on  the  lips  of  the  rev- 
erend gentleman,  for  to  say  that  he  sang  with 
his  lips  would  be  to  do  him  an  injustice.  The 
song  died  in  his  resounding  throat  and  his  mas- 
sive lungs,  it  faded  away  in  his  deep  diaphram, 
and  he  stood  frankly  gasping. 

The  morning  being  so  fair,  it  had  called  to 
him,  and  even  with  his  arms  laden  with  good 
"  light  wood,"  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  step  out  on  the  little  porch  to  look  at  the  lacy 
clouds  winding  over  an  azure  sky,  and  the  deli- 
cate scarfs  of  mist  fluttering  from  the  shoulders 
of  the  mountains.  And  then  he  saw  just  what 
papa  bear  and  mamma  bear  and  baby  bear  saw 
when  they  came  back  to  their  home.  He  saw 
Golden-locks,  or  rather  Hazel-locks,  asleep  in 
the  little  couch.  She  was  smiling  as  if  she  were 
dreaming  of  happy  things,  but  for  all  of  that 
she  looked  very  worn  and  uncared  for.  The 
shoes  that  stood  beside  the  cot  had  almost  no 
soles  to  them,  and  the  soiled  white  frock  that  lay 


200  AZALEA 

tumbled  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  was  a  mere  rag. 
Her  long  hair  was  uncared  for,  and  the  deep 
rings  beneath  her  eyes  were  not  all  from  fatigue. 

"  Well,"  said  he  under  his  breath,  "  the  poor 
little  thrush  —  the  little  storm-blown  thrush!" 

And  then  he  rushed  away,  because  he  felt  a 
great  need  upon  him,  which  was  to  tell  his  wife 
Barbara  what  had  happened.  It  was  nothing 
less  than  a  pain  to  him  to  know  anything  that 
Barbara  did  not  know.  So  he  emptied  his  arms 
of  the  wood,  and  dashed  back  to  the  bedroom. 

"Come!"  he  commanded.  "Come!"  His 
greenish  eyes  were  shining  with  the  loving  light 
that  was  almost  always  to  be  seen  in  them,  his 
face,  as  quick  with  expressions  as  an  actor's,  was 
literally  beaming,  and  he  was  gesticulating  with 
his  large  hands.  "  Just  come,  mamma,  quick," 
he  pleaded.    "  Please  don't  stop  to  do  your  hair." 

"Me  go  too!  Me  go  too!"  piped  the  in- 
sistent, high-pitched  voice  of  the  young  person 
in  the  cradle.  So  without  more  ado,  the  Rev. 
Absalom  gathered  his  son  in  his  arms,  and  the 
three  Summers  made  an  excursion  to  the  back 
porch.  There  they  stood  —  at  least  there  two 
of  them  stood,  and  there  the  third,  safe  under  his 
dad's  arm,  wriggled  —  and  looked  at  the  little 


THE  SUMMERS  FAMILY         201 

forlorn,  sleeping  beauty.  Then,  because  Mrs. 
Barbara  had  a  way  of  finding  the  right  word, 
she  sighed  happily: 

"How  winsome!"  And  then:  "  How  for- 
lorn!" 

"  Clean  beat  out,"  agreed  the  Rev.  Absalom. 

Barbara  put  a  finger  on  her  lips. 

"  Let  her  sleep,"  she  said.  "  She  shall  sleep 
as  long  as  she  can,  and  after  that,  we'll  see  what's 
to  be  done.  Best  lock  the  shed  door,  dear,  so 
she  can't  get  away  without  our  knowing  it.  She 
might  be  frightened,  you  know." 

Her  husband  smiled  his  broadest  smile. 

"  I  don't  believe  she'd  be  very  much  fright- 
ened," he  said.  "  She's  got  too  much  sense. 
Now,  if  I  was  lost,  or  had  run  away  from  home, 
I'd  never  have  the  sense  to  nose  out  a  bed  and 
get  into  it.  Not  I.  I'd  be  lying  out  in  the  rain 
groaning  and  sighing." 

"  Yes,  I  see  you  groaning  and  sighing,"  re- 
torted his  wife,  pinching  his  arm  as  she  took  the 
baby  from  him.  "  You'd  take  a  crowbar  and 
break  in  the  front  door  of  the  first  house  you 
came  to,  and  then  you'd  bless  all  the  people  in 
the  house  and  crawl  in  the  best  bed  and  go  to 
sleep." 


202  AZALEA 

She  ran  with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  away  from 
his  pretended  anger,  and  he  turned  his  attention 
once  more  to  the  kitchen  fire,  singing  under  his 
breath: 
"  And  though  this  world  with  demons  filled, 

Should  threaten  to  undo-oo-oo  us  — " 

The  world  might  be  filled  with  demons,  but 
it  was  quite  evident  that  they  had  not  succeeded 
in  breaking  into  the  house  of  the  Rev.  Absalom 
Summers.  They  had  not  put  their  clutches  on 
his  little  brown  wife  nor  on  his  golden-haired 
baby  son.  They  were  not  in  the  bright  little 
kitchen,  where  she  hastily  prepared  the  morning 
meal,  and  they  did  not  sit  down  at  the  table  with 
the  family  while  the  head  of  the  house  said 
grace  in  clear  and  decisive  tones  which  could 
leave  no  chance  for  any  inattention  on  the  part 
of  Providence. 

"  Oh,  dear  Master  of  the  World  and  of  this 
little  house,"  prayed  the  good  man,  "  we  thank 
Thee  for  this  bright  morning  and  for  the  flowers 
and  clouds  and  birds  which  have  helped  to  make 
it  beautiful.  We  thank  Thee  that  we,  here  be- 
neath this  roof,  love  each  other  with  whole 
hearts.  We  thank  Thee  for  the  little  child  that 
sits  here  at  our  board,  and  for  his  health  and 


THE  SUMMERS  FAMILY         203 

smiles,  and  from  the  bottom  of  our  hearts  we 
pray  Thee  to  give  us  wisdom  to  lead  him  in  the 
paths  of  goodness.  And  we  thank  Thee  for  the 
little  wanderer  who  sleeps  a  stranger  in  our 
house.  If  she  be  motherless,  give  us  joy  in 
mothering  her;  and  if  she  be  fatherless,  we  com- 
mit her  to  Thy  all  knowing  care  —  beg  for  her 
Thy  abounding  love  and  mercy.  May  no  fear 
come  in  her  heart  when  first  she  looks  upon  us. 
May  she  see  at  once  the  tenderness  we  feel  for 
her.  And  if  it  be  Thy  will  that  she  shall  unite 
her  life  with  ours,  may  we  have  heart  of  grace 
to  take  her  as  a  gift  from  Thee.    Amen." 

"  Amen,"  breathed  Mrs.  Barbara,  wiping  her 
eyes. 

"  Amen,"  laughed  baby  Jonathan. 

And  then  they  all  fell  to  and  ate  with  the  best 
of  appetites. 

Then,  while  they  lingered  over  their  meal, 
and  the  Rev.  Absalom  talked  about  the  ride  he 
ought  to  take  to  Sessions  to  see  old  Mrs.  Under- 
wood, who  had  cancer,  and  while  Mrs.  Barbara 
•decided  .that  perhaps  she'd  better  not  start  her 
blue  chally  that  day  when  she  was  likely  to  have 
so  much  on  her  mind,  and  while  baby  Jonathan 
was  wondering  when,   when   he  would  be   let 


204  AZALEA 

down  on  the  floor  to  crawl  after  that  nice  hairy 
caterpillar,  there  came  a  great  knocking  at  the 
door. 

"Old  Bill  Jones!"  cried  the  preacher. 
"What  a  fist  the  man  has!  Who  can  it  be, 
Barbara?  "  It  wTas  no  easy  matter  for  the  master 
of  the  house  to  uncoil  his  long  legs  and  get  them 
out  from  under  the  table.  So  it  was  little  Mrs. 
Barbara  who  opened  the  door  to  admit  a  man 
quite  as  tall  as  her  own  Absalom  —  a  man  with 
no  hat  and  a  great  shock  of  hair,  and  a  fiddle 
under  his  arm.  He  nodded  to  Mrs.  Summers, 
but  looked  over  her  head  at  the  man  and 
shouted: 

"  Neighbor,  I'm  getting  up  a  posse  to  hunt  a 
little  girl  that's  been  lost.  It's  mighty  important 
that  we  get  under  way  inside  of  an  hour  at  the 
farthest.    Will  you  join  us?  " 

"  Now  you  just  make  up  your  mind  I  will, 
man.  But  first  I  want  to  know  why  she's  lost, 
and  who  wants  her,  and  what's  to  be  done  with 
her  after  she's  found.  I've  known  of  cases  where 
it  was  better  to  be  lost  than  found.    What  say?  " 

"  I  say  what  you  say  is  true,  sir!  It  would  be 
a  heap  better  for  that  there  little  girl  to  die  on 
the  mountains  alone  than  to  be  picked  up  by  the 


THE  SUMMERS  FAMILY         205 

folks  she's  run  away  from.  But  I  don't  want 
them  to  get  her,  and  I  don't  want  her  to  die  on 
the  mountain  side,  for  there's  happiness  a-com- 
ing  to  her  if  only  I  can  put  my  hands  on  her  and 
take  her  back  to  them  that's  waiting  for  her." 

Mr.  Summers  was  at  last  untangled  from  the 
table  and  he  came  forward  holding  out  that  great 
hearty  hand  which  had  put  faith  and  hope  into 
many  weary  hearts. 

"  Nov/,  neighbor,  you  do  me  the  honor  to  en- 
ter and  be  seated,  if  you  please.  I  want  to  get 
the  rights  of  this  story  before  I  do  anything. 
And  don't  think  you're  wasting  time,  for  I  give 
you  my  word  that  you're  saving  it,  and  that  as 
soon  as  I  find  this  is  a  thing  we  all  ought  to  en- 
list in,  I'll  have  the  whole  town  about  us  —  bay- 
ing at  our  heels,  sir  —  and  it  will  be  view  and 
halloo  with  us." 

Haystack  Thompson  shifted  his  violin  to  his 
other  arm,  and  ran  a  long  tongue  over  his  lips. 
Then  he  looked  over  his  man. 

"  You  the  preacher?  "  he  asked. 

"  Right  you  are." 

He  came  in  then,  and  at  Mrs.  Summer's  invi- 
tation to  draw  his  chair  up  to  the  breakfast  table, 
did  so,  and  ate  while  he  told  his  story.     From 


206  AZALEA 

time  to  time  the  Rev.  Absalom  consulted  his 
wife  Barbara.  He  had  a  way  of  lifting  an  eye- 
brow or  half  closing  an  eye,  that  was  a  code  of 
signals  in  itself;  and  she  had  her  own  swift  ways 
of  answering.  So  that  by  the  time  Haystack 
was  through  with  his  story,  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Summers  had  decided  what  to  do. 

"  You  show  him,"  said  Mr.  Summers.  So 
Mrs.  Barbara  arose  and  beckoned  their  visitor. 

"  There's  no  need  of  a  searching  party,  sir," 
she  said.    "  Come  see  what  we  found  this  morn- 

ing." 

And  then,  just  as  the  two  of  them  stepped  out 
onto  the  porch,  Azalea  opened  her  weary  eyes 
and  blinked  at  the  light. 

"Well,  praise  the  Lord!"  broke  from  Hay- 
stack's lips  when  he  saw  her. 

"Amen!"  shouted  the  Rev.  Absalom,  and  in 
spite  of  some  effort  to  restrain  himself  he  broke 
out  with : 

"  The  Prince  of  darkness  grim, 
We  tremble  not  for  him; 
His  rage  we  can  endure, 
For  lo!  his  doom  is  sure. 
One  little  word  shall  fell-11-11  him." 


THE  SUMMERS  FAMILY         207 

Azalea  sat  up  on  her  cot  with  the  bedclothes 
drawn  up  to  her  chin,  and  stared  about  her  with 
eyes  too  full  of  surprise  to  be  troubled.  Then, 
with  a  rush,  she  comprehended. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Thompson,  dear!"  she  gasped. 
"  Is  it  really  you?  Oh,  Mr.  Thompson!  "  She 
forgot  her  uncovered  arms  and  her  straggling 
hair,  and  sprang  from  her  couch  into  the  old  fid- 
dler's outstretched  arms,  and  wept.  It  was  not  a 
mere  summer  shower,  but  a  cloudburst — a 
freshet.  And  Haystack  Thompson  wept  too,  and 
mopped  his  eyes  on  his  red  bandana;  and  the 
Rev.  Absalom  Summers  mopped  his  on  the 
roller  towel;  and  little  Mrs.  Summers  dried 
hers  delicately  on  the  hem  of  the  baby's  frock. 
But,  however,  it  became  necessary  to  bring  all 
this  to  an  end,  and  Haystack  found  the  cour- 
age to  do  it.  He  set  the  little  girl  down  firmly 
in  a  chair  and  shook  a  warning  finger  at  her. 

"Storm's  all  over!"  he  announced;  and  he 
helped  Mrs.  Summers  to  wrap  her  pink  knitted 
shawl  around  the  girl's  shoulders. 

"  I'm  off,"  he  announced,  "  to  send  word  to 
the  folks  at  home." 

"  And  I'm  with  you,"  declared  the  preacher. 

Mrs.  Summers  ran  to  the  window  to  see  the 


2oS  AZALEA 

two  tall  men  making  their  way  down  the  street, 
and  then  hastened  back  to  her  strange  guest. 
Azalea  had  arisen  and  came  forward  with  the 
pink  shawl  dragging  behind  her. 

"  Oh,  ma'am,"  she  pleaded,  both  hands  ex- 
tended, "  Please  don't  think  me  bold  and  horrid. 
I'm  not  bold,  honest  I'm  not.  I  want  to  tell  you 
all  about  it." 

"  I  know  all  about  it  now,  my  dear,  and  I 
understand  everything.  I  don't  think  you  are 
bold,  and  I'm  very  thankful  that  you  came  here. 
And  now,  my  child,  you  will  find  some  clean 
clothes  laid  out  on  the  bed  —  for  you  and  I  are 
just  about  of  a  size,  though  I'm  a  married  per- 
son and  you're  a  little  girl.  And  here's  a  glass 
of  milk  to  go  on,  so  to  speak,  while  you  are  mak- 
ing yourself  fine.  By  the  time  you  are  ready, 
there'll  be  more  porridge  cooked  for  you.  You 
like  porridge,  don't  you  —  with  cream?  And 
do  you  like  muffins  with  raisins  in  them?  I  can 
cook  some  in  no  time.  And  bacon  —  shall  it  be 
bacon  —  and  a  few  fried  potatoes?" 

But  Azalea  had  fled  to  make  her  toilet.  It 
was,  after  all,  not  so  quickly  made  as  she  might 
have  hoped.  As  she  stood  in  the  simple,  dainty 
room,  with  the  pretty  toilet  table  and  the  deli- 


THE  SUMMERS  FAMILY         209 

cately  perfumed  soap  and  the  great  soft  towels, 
all  her  longing  for  the  cleanliness  of  the  Ma  Mc- 
Birney  days  came  over  her,  and  when  she 
emerged,  at  last,  the  muffins  were  as  brown  as 
nuts  on  top,  and  the  bacon  was  done  to  a  crisp. 

"  Well!  "  cried  Mrs.  Summers  when  she  saw 
the  girl  in  her  starched  pink  gingham,  with 
smooth  braids  and  "  shining  morning  face " 
standing  in  the  doorway.  "  Well!  "  The  word 
seemed  to  mean  much.  It  meant  among  other 
things  that  Mrs.  Barbara  liked  the  looks  of  her 
unexpected  guest,  and  Azalea  felt  a  pleasant 
wave  of  "  homeyness  "  gently  rippling  over  her. 

"  And  now  for  breakfast,"  said  little  Mrs. 
Barbara.  But  at  that  moment  Azalea  saw  what 
she  thought  was  the  sweetest  thing  her  eyes  ever 
had  beheld.  Baby  Jonathan  was  in  his  tub  down 
before  the  fire,  and  he  was  splashing  with  hands 
and  feet  till  the  water  flew  all  about  him  on  the 
blue  oilcloth. 

"  Oh,  the  little  deary  dear!  "  squealed  Azalea, 
forgetting  all  about  breakfast  and  dropping  on 
her  knees  beside  the  rosy  baby.  "  Oh,  the  little 
lovey,  ducky,  honey-pot!"  She  dropped  a  kiss 
at  the  back  of  his  neck,  and  then  deposited  one 
in  each  of  his  moist,  rosy  palms.    She  twisted  bis 


210  AZALEA 

golden,  silk-fine  ringlets  about  her  finger,  and 
counted  his  toes  and  his  fingers  to  the  imme- 
morial rhyme  of  the  little  pig  that  went  to 
market. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  protested  the  baby's  mother, 
"  your  breakfast  is  getting  cold." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  Mrs.  Summers.  But  I  like  it 
cold.  I  do,  really,  ma'am.  And  then  I've  had 
ever  so  many  breakfasts  —  Oh,  ever  and  ever  so 
many  in  my  time.  But  I  never  saw  a  baby  be- 
fore, close  too,  and  like  this.  I  didn't  know  they 
were  so  sweet.  Why,  he's  the  very  loveliest  thing 
I  ever  saw.    Are  all  babies  as  nice  as  this  one?  " 

Mrs.  Barbara  beamed,  and  her  dark  eyes 
looked  deeper  and  sweeter  than  ever. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  there  are  any  quite  as 
nice,"  she  said  blushing  beautifully.  "  But  so 
far  as  I've  seen  they're  all  more  or  less  nice." 

"  I  should  think  everybody  would  have  'em!  " 
cried  Azalea.    "  I  certainly  shall." 

"  I  would,"  said  little  Mrs.  Barbara  tenderly. 
"  And  now  come,  you  starved  child,  and  eat 
your  breakfast." 

While  Azalea  ate,  she  and  Mrs.  Summers  ex- 
changed confidences.  Azalea  told  her  the  full 
story  of  her  "  strange  life  "  as  she  called  it;  and 


THE  SUMMERS  FAMILY         211 

Mrs.  Summers  told  her  about  her  happy  girl- 
hood, and  her  days  away  at  boarding  school,  and 
how  her  parents  had  wished  her  to  marry  a 
young  man  who  lived  near  them,  and  whom  she 
had  known  all  her  life,  and  who  was  rich  and  of 
high  social  position,  and  how  she  had  just  had 
to  marry  Absalom  Summers  who  had  no  money, 
and  who  didn't  know  —  or  care  —  what  you 
meant  when  you  talked  about  a  social  position. 

"  And  I'm  so  happy,"  said  the  clergyman's  lit- 
tle wife,  "  in  this  dear  funny  little  house  —  " 

"  And  with  that  dear  funny  little  baby,"  broke 
in  Azalea. 

"  That  I  really  can't  be  thankful  enough," 
concluded  Mrs.  Summers. 

"  Well,"  said  Azalea,  "  you'd  be  surprised  if 
you  could  know  of  the  perfectly  lovely  people 
I've  been  meeting  these  days." 

"  Not  Bet  Bowen  and  her  son?  "  teased  Mrs. 
Summers. 

Azalea  flushed  a  little.  "  But  really  and 
truly,  they  had  their  good  side,  Mrs.  Summers," 
she  said  earnestly.  "  They  weren't  half  as  bad 
to  me  as  they  might  have  been." 

"  You  dear  child!    I'm  sure  they  weren't.  And 


212  AZALEA 

perhaps  in  their  hearts  they  are  glad  you  got 
away." 

Azalea  clasped  her  hands  and  swung  them  up 
over  her  head  with  a  curious,  excited  gesture. 
"  You  can  make  up  your  mind  that  I'm  glad, 
Mrs.  Summers.  Just  think,  I'm  really  free 
again,  and  I'm  going  back  to  Ma  McBirney,  and 
Carin  and  all  the  rest." 

The  baby  had  been  taken  from  its  bath  and 
clothed  in  fresh  garments,  and  now  its  mother 
made  herself  comfortable  in  a  low  rocking 
chair,  and  drew  the  fuzzy  head  against  her 
shoulder. 

"  I'm  going  to  rock  him  to  sleep,"  she  ex- 
plained. "  So  we'll  have  to  stop  talking  a 
while." 

Azalea  smiled  till  all  of  her  teeth  gleamed. 

"  I'll  try,"  she  said,  "  but  I  know  it  will  be 
hard.  Honest,  I  never  talked  so  much  before 
in  my  life.  I've  always  been  afraid  of  people  a 
little,  or  thought  it  wasn't  polite  to  talk  like  this. 
But  someway  —  you  don't  mind  my  saying  it, 
do  you,  Mrs.  Summers?  —  you  seem  almost  like 
my  own  sister.  I  couldn't  help  talking  to  you. 
You  may  be  married  and  older  than  I  am,  but 


THE  SUMMERS  FAMILY         213 

you're  no  bigger.  And  then  you've  been  so  good 
—  so  good  I  couldn't  say." 

"  Sh,  dear,"  murmured  the  little  mother.  And 
she  crooned  the  baby  to  sleep  while  the  girl,  sit- 
ting on  a  hassock  near,  watched  her  with  admir- 
ing eyes. 

Then,  when  baby  was  quiet,  the  two  worked 
together  about  the  little  house  till  all  was  tidy 
and  as  it  should  be,  and  little  Mrs.  Summers 
made  her  confession  too. 

"  I  get  dreadfully  lonely  at  times,"  she  said. 
"  The  people  here  are  good  as  good  can  be,  but 
they're  different  from  the  people  I'm  used  to. 
I  can't  seem  to  make  myself  feel  quite  free  with 
them.  Why,  I've  told  you  more,  Azalea,  than 
I  have  them,  and  I've  only  known  you  such  a 
little,  little  few  minutes." 

"  It's  queer,  isn't  it? "  said  Azalea  softly. 
"  It's  very  queer.  I  know  this :  I'll  have  you  for 
my  kin  as  long  as  I  live.  You  see  I've  no  real 
kin,  so  we'll  be  pretend  kin." 

"  Cousins!  "  cried  Mrs.  Barbara.  "  Make  it 
cousins!  " 

"  Cousins!  "  cried  Azalea  in  turn.  And  they 
smiled  at  each  other  from  across  the  bed  that 
they  were  making  together. 


214  AZALEA 

So  Haystack  Thompson,  still  somewhat 
troubled  and  flustered,  came  back  to  find  his 
charge  as  happy  as  a  bird.  And  it  was  arranged 
that  they  should  take  the  train  for  Lee  that  after- 
noon. 

"  You're  to  wear  the  things  you  have  on,  Aza- 
lea," said  Mrs.  Summers.  "And  my  blue  sun- 
shade, and  you  can  send  them  back  to  me  when 
you  get  ready.  I've  ten  times  as  many  clothes  as 
I  have  any  occasion  to  wear  here." 

But  there  were  still  several  hours  that  these  so 
sudden  friends  could  spend  together;  so  Azalea 
was  shown  the  garden  and  the  chickens  and  the 
cow  and  the  one  lazy  white  horse,  and  she  was 
present  when  Jonathan  awoke.  She  saw  him 
dewy  from  his  sleep,  and  thought  him  lovelier 
than  ever.  So  it  was  not  quite  easy  to  say  good- 
bye when  the  time  came.  But  it  was  agreed  that 
Mrs.  Summers  was  to  write  to  Azalea  and  that 
Azalea  was  to  answer,  and  that  they  were  to 
address  each  other  as  "  My  dear  Cousin." 

The  four  o'clock  train  bore  Haystack  Thomp- 
son and  Azalea  away  from  the  little  huddled 
town  and  up  through  the  purple  mountains,  and 
dropped  them,  after  hours  of  unexpected  delay, 
down  into  the  village  of  Lee. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MA  SAYS  NO 

Ma  McBirney,  sitting  sad-eyed  at  the  edge  of 
the  mountain  plateau  on  which  her  cottage 
stood,  was  absently  watching  the  road.  She  had 
no  reason  to  suppose  that  anybody  would  be 
winding  up  that  five-mile  wagonway  to  see  her, 
yet  for  some  reason  she  could  not  fix  her  mind  on 
her  work  that  morning.  Sitting  there  at  the 
"  Outlook,"  she  could  see  over  the  bright  valley 
and  catch  the  gleam  of  the  sun  on  the  river  and 
on  the  distant  dome  of  the  county  courthouse. 

About  her  the  bees  hummed,  intent  on  their 
day's  work;  and  not  far  distant  stood  the  buzzing 
village  of  hives  which  Thomas  McBirney  had 
placed  where  the  Pride  of  India  tree,  the  mimo- 
sas and  catalpas,  the  trumpet  flower  and  wild 
honeysuckle  could  feed  them.  Mary  McBirney 
loved  the  song  of  the  bees ;  she  loved  the  bright 
valley;  she  loved  her  home  and  most  of  all  she 
loved  those  within  it. 

Yet  to-day  the  heart  in  her  was  heavy.     A 

215 


2i6  AZALEA 

sorrovvr  less  black  yet  somehow  more  dishearten- 
ing than  that  which  had  engulfed  her  at  the  time 
of  her  Molly's  death,  rested  upon  her  heart. 
When  Molly  had  died,  it  was  as  if  the  tragic 
blackness  of  night  had  come  upon  her.  Yet 
amid  this  murk  there  came  shining  the  morning 
star  of  hope.  And  afterward  there  came  the  full 
and  beautiful  dawn  of  perfect  trust.  She  be- 
lieved that  in  the  Time  to  Come  she  and  Molly 
would  stand  together,  spirit  to  spirit,  and  that 
there  would  be  no  more  separation. 

Then  Azalea  had  come  to  fill  the  lonely  hours 
with  her  bright  ways,  and  every  night  Mary  Mc- 
Birney  had  thanked  God  for  her  daughterly  so- 
ciety. And  now  she  was  gone!  Nor  could  the 
woman  who  had  grown  to  love  her,  rest  in  the 
comfort  that  she  was,  like  Molly,  safe  from 
harm.  When  Molly  died,  her  mother's  grief 
had  been  selfish.  She  did  not  mourn  for  Molly, 
but  for  herself.  But  now  she  mourned  most  for 
the  lost  girl,  who  might  be  going  through  terri- 
ble experiences,  and  who  was,  no  doubt,  eating 
out  her  heart  in  terror  and  homesickness. 

There  were  not  wanting  those  who  said  —  and 
believed  —  that  the  "  circus  girl  "  had  run  away 
of  her  own  accord  and  gone  back  to  the  wander- 


MA  SAYS  NO  217 

ing  folk  with  whom  she  had  spent  the  greater 
part  of  her  life.  But  never  for  one  fleeting  sec- 
ond did  Ma  McBirney  think  this.  She  had 
looked  too  often  into  the  clear  and  loving  eyes 
of  the  girl,  to  believe  that  there  could  be  any- 
thing about  her  which  was  not  straightforward 
and  loyal.  She  only  prayed  that  in  some  way 
her  love  might  reach  out,  as  starlight  reaches 
from  stars,  to  shine  on  the  poor  wandering  child 
and  comfort  her. 

She  could  see  her  Thomas  working  on  his 
terraced,  steep  fields,  and  now  and  then  she 
waved  a  hand  to  him.  She  didn't  want  him  to 
know  how  heavily  her  heart  lay  in  her.  She  had 
caused  him  enough  anxiety  during  the  past  year, 
and  she  knew  his  own  heart  was  sore  with  the 
loss  of  his  Molly,  and  that  he  also  was  greatly 
distressed  over  Azalea.  So,  not  to  add  to  his 
troubles,  she  tried  to  wear  a  cheerful  face.  But 
this  morning  her  knees  seemed  to  give  way  un- 
der her,  and  her  pulse  fluttered  sickeningly. 

Then,  as  she  sat  there  reproaching  herself  for 
not  having  more  faith  that  her  eager  prayers 
would  be  answered,  she  saw  three  riders  coming 
up  the  long  road.  They  showed  in  the  midst  of 
a  little  clearing  and  then  were  lost  among  the 


218  AZALEA 

trees,  and  only  now  and  then,  at  some  bald,  out- 
jutting  point,  could  she  catch  a  glimpse  of  them. 
After  a  time  she  made  out  that  they  were  a  man, 
a  woman  and  a  girl;  and  when  they  were  still 
far  beneath  her,  she  recognized  them  for  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Carson  and  Carin. 

She  threw  a  thought  to  the  cabin  and  the  way 
it  looked,  and  decided  that  nothing  was  out  of 
place.  All  was  as  orderly  and  clean  as  hands 
could  make  it,  and  up  in  Azalea's  empty 
room,  there  were  fresh  flowers  in  the  vase,  and 
the  canary  bird  was  singing  on  the  little  high- 
swung  gallery.  As  for  Ma  McBirney  herself, 
she  always  was  neat.  Her  hair  rippled  away 
from  her  broad,  low  brow,  and  her  plain  ging- 
ham frock,  with  its  crocheted  collar  and  its 
branched  coral  brooch,  was  as  clean  and  smooth 
as  it  could  be  made.  So,  unflurried  as  ever  — 
though  she  had  never  before  received  people  so 
important — Mrs.  McBirney  awaited  her 
guests. 

The  three  of  them,  having  achieved  the  last 
climb  on  their  way,  urged  their  horses  to  a  fine 
gallop,  and  they  came  bearing  down  tumult- 
uously  on  Mary  McBirney,  crying  out  some- 
thing joyously.     Then,  suddenly  she  forgot  all 


MA  SAYS  NO  219 

her  dignity  and  ran  to  meet  them,  and  as  they 
reined  up  sharply  by  her  side  the  tears  were 
streaming  over  her  face. 

"What  say?  What  say?"  she  shrilled  at 
them.    "  Is  she  found!  " 

"Found!  Whoop  la!"  shouted  Mr.  Carson 
like  a  boy.  "  Found  by  Haystack  Thompson. 
She's  all  safe  and  right  —  safe  and  right  as 
Carin  here.  And  they're  coming  home  on  the 
afternoon  train." 

"  Oh,"  gasped  Mrs.  McBirney,  and  sank 
down  on  a  convenient  stump  and  stared  in  the 
distance,  the  unheeded  tears  still  running  down 
her  cheeks.  And  then  rousing  herself  she  cried : 
"  But  the  boys  must  know!    Pa  must  know!  " 

"Where  are  they  all?" 

"Pa's  cultivating  the  cotton  patch  yon;  and 
Hi's  fishing — it  don't  take  but  one  arm  to  fish, 
you  know.    And  Jim's  off  at  school." 

"  Count  Jim  out,  then,  Mrs.  McBirney. 
Shall  I  go  call  the  others?  " 

"  Wait.  I've  a  way,"  cried  Mrs.  McBirney, 
and  sped  toward  the  house.  There  she  kept  an 
old  horn  hanging.  It  had  come  down  in  the 
family  from  Revolutionary  times;  it  had  been 
used  to  call  the  men  in  from  the  fields,  when  the 


220  AZALEA 

hostile  Indians  showed  their  feathered  heads 
above  the  pass,  and  now  it  blew  its  good  tidings 
over  the  fields. 

"That  will  bring  them,"  said  Mrs.  McBir- 
ney.    "  They'll  come  running." 

The  Carsons  said  they  would  sit  out  in  the 
sunshine  —  that  there  was  no  need  for  them  to 
go  into  the  house.  They  had  come  up  unex- 
pectedly, and  they  gave  Mary  McBirney  a 
chance  to  keep  her  house  to  herself  if  she 
wished.  But  a  kind  of  humble  pride  swelled  in 
the  good  woman's  heart.  She  had  not  many 
vanities,  but  her  pride  in  her  home  was  one  of 
them. 

"  We  will  sit  in  the  sun,"  she  said,  "  for  it's 
the  place  to  be  days  like  this.  But  first  you  must 
see  my  home.    I've  seen  yours,  you  know." 

So  they  were  shown  the  homely  rooms  —  the 
rooms  where  each  and  every  member  of  the 
family  had  his  comfortable  place.  They  saw 
the  cat  sunning  on  the  doorstep,  and  the  hounds 
stretched  out  in  the  yard.  They  saw  the  braided 
rugs,  the  woven  counterpanes,  the  homemade 
cotton  at  the  windows,  the  shapely  baskets,  all 
the  products  of  Mary  McBirney's  busy  hands. 

And  then  they  were  taken  to  that  clean  little 


MA  SAYS  NO  221 

chamber,  looking  straight  up  the  leafy  moun- 
tain side,  which  the  McBirneys  had  lovingly 
made  for  Azalea. 

"Oh!"  cried  Carin,  "Isn't  it  a  dear  place, 
mamma?  Quaint  and  dear  like  Azalea!  My 
room  has  too  many  things  in  it,  hasn't  it  mamma? 
I  like  this  better.  And  it's  almost  like  living  in 
the  tree  tops.  The  next  time  Azalea  leaves  you, 
Mrs.  McBirney,  it  will  be  because  she  thinks 
she's  a  bird  and  flies  away.  Or  else  she'll  be  a 
flying  squirrel." 

And  just  then  they  heard  Thomas  McBirney 
calling  them  from  below.  Then  they  all  went 
down  to  have  a  part  in  telling  their  good  news, 
and  while  they  were  in  the  very  midst  of  their 
story  —  not  that  they  had  much  to  tell,  for  they 
knew  no  more  than  Haystack's  message  had 
brought  them  —  Hi's  odd  little  figure,  with  its 
long  arms  and  bullet  head,  came  crawling  up 
the  rocks  from  the  lower  waterfall.  His  dark 
face  was  strangely  old  and  tired,  and  as  he 
moved  forward,  with  one  of  his  thin  arms  in  a 
splint,  he  certainly  looked  like  a  neglected  boy, 
and  this  in  spite  of  all  that  Ma  McBirney  could 
do  to  keep  him  as  she  thought  a  boy  should  be 
kept. 


222  AZALEA 

"  She's  found,  Hi,"  Mr.  Carson  shouted  in 
his  hearty  way.    "  Azalea  is  found!  " 

"  Honest,  sir?  "  cried  Hi,  stumbling  forward. 
"Honest?" 

"Honest  Injun,  hope  to  die!"  roared  back 
Mr.  Carson. 

Hi  began  kicking  viciously  at  the  dirt  and 
twisting  his  body  this  way  and  that.  He  was  in 
agony  for  fear  he  would  "  boo  hoo,"  as  he  put  it 
to  himself. 

"Sap  head!"  he  snarled  under  his  breath, 
"Mammy's  baby  boy!"  He  was  calling  him- 
self names,  and  to  some  effect,  for  the  invisible 
hand  that  had  clutched  his  throat  seemed  to 
relax. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Carson,  "  let's  go  sit  out 
there  on  the  headland  and  talk.  We  rode  up 
here  to-day  not  only  to  tell  you  this  perfectly 
gorgeous  piece  of  news,  but  also  to  talk  over  cer- 
tain matters  with  you." 

"  I'm  sure  we're  pleased  to  listen  to  anything 
you  have  to  say,  sir,"  replied  Thomas  McBirney 
quaintly.  So  they  seated  themselves  on  the 
benches  at  "  Outlook  Point." 

"  We  are  so,"  murmured  Ma  McBirney  in 
her  soft  voice. 


MA  SAYS  NO  223 

"  Won't  you  begin  at  the  beginning,  Lucy?  " 
said  Mr.  Carson  to  his  wife.  "  Tell  them  how 
we  came  to  leave  the  city  and  our  friends  and 
all,  and  settle  here.    Or  shall  I  tell  them,  dear?  " 

Mrs.  Carson  leaned  back  against  the  trunk  of 
a  tulip  tree  and  looked  off  across  the  valley. 

"  It  was  a  great  sorrow,"  she  said  in  her  weary, 
beautiful  way.  "  It  was  a  sorrow  so  great  that 
we  never  could  quite  believe  it."  She  spoke 
slowly,  with  a  little  pause  between  each  word. 
"  In  one  day  our  three  sons  were  taken  from 
us.  It  was  at  a  theatre  —  there  was  a  fire — I 
never  talk  of  it.  I  cannot.  We  have  traveled; 
we  have  lived  here  and  there,  and  we  have  been 
unable  to  get  back  our  strength  and  interest. 
My  Charles  —  "  she  laid  her  white  hand  on  her 
husband's  knee  —  "  tries  to  make  out  that  he  has. 
But  I  know  better.  But  he's  more  unselfish  than 
I,  that's  all.  Sometimes  I've  shut  myself  up 
for  weeks  at  a  time,  and  seen  no  one  except  my 
nurse.  It  was  the  only  way  that  I  could  control 
myself.  Well,  not  to  talk  of  that,  we  have  come, 
naturally  enough,  to  look  at  life  in  a  very  dif- 
ferent way  from  what  we  used  to  look  at  it.  We 
see  that  we've  got  to  stop  living  for  ourselves 
alone.     If  we're  to  be  happy  again,  we  must 


224  AZALEA 

enlarge  our  family.  We  must  take  in  everyone 
we  can  reach  who  needs  us,  or  who  will  care  for 
us.  So  we  have  come  down  here  where  every 
one  seems  simple  and  friendly,  and  where  we 
can  offer  our  neighborly  offices,  to  spend  the 
next  few  years.  We  heard  of  the  fine  old  Ather- 
ton  place,  and  finding  that  it  was  for  sale,  we 
bought  it  and  have  made  a  home  there  which 
we  really  are  coming  to  love,  though  we  had 
thought  we  never  could  really  care  for  a  home 
again.  And  now  we  want  to  be  doing  some- 
thing—  something  really  interesting." 

"  We  want  to  play  a  new  game,"  broke  in  Mr. 
Carson,  "  and  to  get  as  many  as  we  can  to  come 
and  play  with  us." 

"  We  want,"  went  on  Mrs.  Carson,  "  to  go 
into  these  mountain  industries.  We  want  the 
old  handicrafts  to  be  revived;  the  weaving,  the 
basket  making  and  the  pottery.  And  we  want 
your  help  and  advice." 

"  Oh,  yes'm,"  cried  Mary  McBirney  enthu- 
siastically. "  Thomas  and  I  have  talked  many 
and  many's  the  time,  of  the  good  that  might 
come  from  such  a  thing.  Why,  there's  chair 
makers  in  these  parts  that  can  make   a  chair 


MA  SAYS  NO  225 

that'll  go  down  to  their  great-great-grand- 
children." 

"Just  the  thing,  just  the  thing,  madam!" 
answered  Mr.  Carson.  "  They've  got  the 
knowledge,  and  they've  the  talent,  but  they  don't 
use  their  knowledge  sufficiently,  and  they  don't 
understand  how  to  market  their  wares." 

"  It's  true,"  Mr.  McBirney  admitted. 
"  They're  poorer  than  Job's  turkey.  They  just 
set  around  and  mourn  their  fate.  They  stir  up 
a  little  patch  of  ground,  and  think  they've  done 
everything  there  is  to  be  done." 

"  They're  too  far  from  markets  and  rail- 
roads," said  Mr.  Carson.  "  In  the  beginning  the 
mountains  called  them,  they  were  so  beautiful; 
and  then  they  cast  a  spell  over  them.  It's  as  if 
the  people  were  hypnotized,  and  hadn't  leave  to 


move." 


"  That's  it,"  agreed  Mrs.  McBirney.  "  You 
see  them  creeping  down  into  town  as  shy  as  deer. 
And  you  can  tell  by  looking  at  them,  that  there 
ain't  enough  in  the  pantry  to  go  around. 
They're  just  plumb  starved,   that's  what  they 


are." 


"  Starved  for  lack  of  food,  and  society,  and 
excitement,"     Mr.     Carson     added.       "  Their 


226  AZALEA 

stomachs  and  their  minds  and  hearts  are  empty." 

"  Yes,  sir,  just  plumb  empty." 

"  Well,  let's  put  something  in  them.  What 
do  you  say,  Mr.  McBirney?  " 

"  It  certainly  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  do,  sir. 
Now,  how'll  you  go  about  it?  " 

"Well,  we  want  you  and  Mrs.  McBirney  to 
co-operate  with  us.  We  want  you  to  take  charge 
of  the  chair  factory  that  we  mean  to  start,  and 
we  want  Mrs.  McBirney  to  preside  over  the 
weaving." 

"  And  leave  the  farm,  sir?  "  cried  Mary  Mc- 
Birney. "  You're  not  ever  meaning  that,  are 
you?" 

"  Why,  would  that  be  so  hard?  We'd  put  you 
up  just  the  sort  of  cottage  you  want,  you  know. 
And  you'd  be  near  the  school,  so  that  Jim  could 
go  without  using  up  the  best  part  of  his  energy 
racing  up  and  down  the  mountain." 

"  I  reckon  Jimmy  does  get  rather  wore  out," 
Mary  McBirney  mused.  "  And  maybe  it  would 
be  better  all  'round,  Mr.  Carson.    And  yet  —  " 

Mary  McBirney's  eyes  strayed  off  to  the  pur- 
ple valley  with  its  silver  streams;  they  rested  on 
the  low-lying  cottage,  wreathed  in  its  flowering 
vines  and  hemmed  around  with  its  rose  bushes, 


MA  SAYS  NO  227 

its  sweet  althea  shrubs,  its  hydrangeas  and  bridal 
wreaths;  they  rested  on  the  Pride  of  India  tree 
and  the  graves  beneath;  on  the  towering  tulip 
trees  under  which  they  sat,  and  she  shook  her 
head. 

"  No,  Mr.  Carson,"  she  said  gently  and  with 
the  moisture  gathering  in  her  eyes,  "  we 
couldn't  never  make  another  place  so  —  so 
sweet — as  this  here  one.  We  couldn't 
put  our  hearts  into  another  place  as  we 
have  into  this.  Besides,  though  I  thank  you 
kindly,  sir,  I  wouldn't  want  to  leave  my  home  to 
work  outside.  My  job  is  making  things  bright 
for  Thomas  and  Jim  and  Azalea,  and  perhaps 
for  Hi,  here.  If  it  was  so  that  I  really  needed 
to  work  outside,  of  course  I  would  and  never  say 
a  word.  But  I'd  rather  we  got  along  with  little, 
and  went  patched  and  mended,  than  for  us  to 
have  more  and  lose  the  feeling  of  home." 

"  I  can't  say  the  farm  has  paid  any  too  well," 
Thomas  McBirney  said,  "  Sometimes  it  cer- 
tainly has  been  hard  scratching.  And  yet,  some- 
how, I  wouldn't  like  to  cut  loose  from  it.  It's 
such  a  likely  prospect  we  have  here."  He  too 
was  looking  off  at  the  valley.  "  Somehow  it 
don't  seem  as  if  we  could  move  on.    Perhaps  the 


228  AZALEA 

mountains  have  cast  a  spell  over  us,  as  you  say." 

"  Well,  I  can't  blame  you  if  they  have,"  said 
Mr.  Carson  cordially.  "  Yet  ought  you  to  let 
sentiment  like  that  stand  in  the  way  of  Jim's 
schooling  and  your  advancement?  " 

Thomas  McBirney  crossed  one  leg  over  the 
other,  and  looked  down  pensively  at  his  cal- 
loused hands. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  had  ought  to,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  But  after  all,  we're  happy  here.  The 
children  was  born  here.  Our  little  girl  — 
Molly,  you  know,  that's  dead  —  she  seems  to  be 
running  over  the  place  still.  Seems  like  I  can 
feel  her  near  me,  plenty  of  times.  Don't  you 
feel  that  way,  ma?  " 

Mary  McBirney  nodded,  with  her  tender 
smile. 

"  So,"  went  on  Thomas  McBirney,  "  I  don't 
know  as  I  ought  to  leave.  But  I  tell  you  what 
I  can  do,  Mr.  Carson,  and  what  I'd  be  proud  to 
do.  Times  when  I  wasn't  busy  here  at  the  farm, 
I  could  drive  back  into  the  mountains  to  visit 
men  I  know,  and  men  I  don't  exactly  know  but 
that  I've  heard  tell  of,  and  I  could  get  them  to 
working  on  chairs  for  you.  Then  they'd  haul 
them  down  to  your  place;  and  maybe  some  of 


MA  SAYS  NO  229 

them  who  ain't  as  hard  to  pry  loose  from  the 
rocks  as  I  be,  will  move  down  beside  your 
factory." 

"  Thomas  makes  the  best  chairs  I  ever  set  in," 
declared  Mary  McBirney  with  pride.  "  Talk 
about  getting  other  men  to  make  chairs!  There 
ain't  none  of  them  can  come  up  to  him." 

"  I  engage  your  whole  output  then,"  declared 
Mr.  Carson,  apparently  not  at  all  vexed  that  his 
fine  plan  had  been  disarranged.  "  Get  to  work, 
Mr.  McBirney,  and  get  your  boy  to  work.  I'll 
sell  the  chairs  for  you  at  better  rates  than  you 
ever  dreamed  of." 

"  And  if  you  do  that,"  declared  Thomas  Mc- 
Birney, "  you'll  take  your  commission.  This 
has  got  to  be  on  a  business  basis,  sir." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  answered  Mr.  Carson 
hastily.  He  saw  that  it  would  be  very  easy  to 
hurt  the  pride  of  this  independent  man.  "  We'll 
agree  on  the  commission,  and  I'll  take  it.  Of 
course  I  shall  need  money  to  build  my  cottages 
and  to  run  the  business." 

Hi  had  been  wriggling  like  a  worm  on  the 
bench  where  he  sat  beside  Carin,  and  now,  with 
much  blinking  and  twisting,  he  managed  to  say, 
addressing  himself  to  Mr.  Carson: 


230 


AZALEA 


"Please,  sir!" 

"  Yes,  Hi." 

"  My  ma,  you  know,"  but  his  cogs  stopped 

again. 

"  Well,  I  don't  exactly  know  her,  Hi,  but  I'd 
like  to." 

"  She  can  weave,  sir,  better  than  anybody. 
She  can  weave  the  Tudor  Rose,  and  the  Andrew 
Jackson  Cabin,  and  the  Diamond  and  Cat  Track 
—  Oh,  most  anything.  You  ought  to  see  her 
weaving.  And  she  can  make  her  own  dyes,  just 
beautiful.  But  what's  the  use?  Where  she  lives 
nobody  cares  about  her  weaving.  If  you'd 
just  ask  her  to  come  on,  sir,  since  Mrs.  McBir- 
ney  don't  want  to,  she'd  run  the  place  for  you, 
fine,  and  teach  the  women  all  the  old  patterns." 

His  little  black  eyes  seemed  to  hold  flames  in 
them  as  he  turned  his  face,  twitching  with  his 
excitement,  toward  Mr.  Carson. 

"Why,  Hi,  could  she  really?  Where  does 
she  live?    I  can  go  and  see  her." 

"  She  lives  away  over  on  the  far  side  of 
Steamboat  Mountain,  sir.  Pa's  dead,  you  know, 
and  there's  three  children  for  ma  to  care  for. 
She  drives  the  horse  to  town  and  gets  washing, 
and  she  farms  a  little.     But  it  ain't  much.     I 


MA  SAYS  NO  231 

had  to  leave  home  so's  I'd  not  be  making  her 
feed  me.  That's  why  I  went  away  with  my 
uncle  Sisson."  His  face  flushed  scarlet  through 
all  the  brown  as  he  thought  of  his  connection 
with  this  man  whom  he  hated,  and  whom  he 
knew  all  these  people  with  him  held  in 
contempt. 

"  You  shall  go  with  me,  Hi,  and  show  me  the 
way.    We  go  by  train,  of  course?  " 

"  By  train  first.  Then  we  drive."  Little 
drops  of  sweat  broke  out  on  Hi's  forehead  and 
about  his  mouth  and  the  tears  swam  into  his  hot 
eyes. 

"Oh,  if  we  could  be  together,  here,  sir!  I 
just  want  to  see  my  ma  so!  I've  been  wanting 
to  see  her  all  the  time,  and  now  since  my  arm 
got  broke  I  can't  hardly  live,  I  want  her  so." 

Mary  McBirney  reached  out  a  hand  and 
drew  the  boy  over  beside  her.  He  might  have 
been  ashamed  of  her  petting  at  another  moment, 
but  now  he  nestled  up  close  to  her,  big  boy  that 
he  was,  and  looked  shyly  up  into  her  face. 

"  It  was  being  with  you,  ma'am,"  he  mur- 
mured, "  that  made  me  so  homesick,  I  reckon. 
It  made  me  remember  what  ma  was  like." 

Mrs.  Carson  leaned  forward  to  smile  on  him. 


232  AZALEA 

"  We'll  have  you  and  your  mother  together, 
Hi,"  she  declared,  the  languor  gone  out  of  her 
lovely  voice,  "  one  way  or  another.  You  may 
take  my  word  for  that.  And  if,  as  you  say,  she 
can  attend  to  the  weaving,  why  you  may  be  sure 
she  shall  be  given  it  to  do.  We  can  get  some  one 
to  help  her  keep  her  house  and  care  for  the  chil- 
dren. I  agree  with  Mrs.  McBirney,  a  mother 
has  to  make  a  happy  home.  That's  her  first  busi- 
ness—  and  her  best  business,  too,  isn't  it?  But 
since  vour  mother  has  to  have  the  work  outside 
in  order  to  have  a  home,  we'll  arrange  the  best 
we  can." 

"  I  shall  learn  how  to  weave,  too,  mother," 
Carin  announced.  "  O  mother,  can't  I  have  that 
big  room  upstairs  for  a  studio?  I  want  to  put 
my  sketches  up  on  the  wall,  and  have  a  place  to 
paint.  Please,  mother!  I'd  be  so  happy  if  I 
could  have  a  studio  of  my  own.  If  everyone 
else  is  to  do  something,  I  want  to  do  something 
too.  And  I  know  I  can  paint.  And  I  know  I 
can  weave.  And  I  can  make  baskets.  I  have 
the  dearest  ideas  for  shapes  and  designs.  Oh, 
I'd  so  much  rather  do  that  than  study  arithmetic 
and  grammar." 

"  Perhaps  there'll  be  time  for  both,  my  dear," 


MA  SAYS  NO  233 

smiled  her  mother.  "  There  seems  to  be  a  great 
deal  of  time  down  here.  I'm  having  a  friend  of 
mine  come  down  to  act  as  governess  for  Carin," 
Mrs.  Carson  said,  turning  to  Mrs.  McBirney. 
"  She  will  teach  her  at  home  for  the  present,  for 
I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  let  her  go  away  to 
boarding  school  yet.  Fortunately,  my  friend, 
Miss  Parkhurst,  paints  charmingly  in  water 
colors,  and  so  Carin  will  be  able  to  take  some 
lessons  in  that.  Carin  wants  to  make  an  artist 
of  herself,  and  I'm  sure  I'd  love  to  have  her  if 
she  really  has  the  talent.  Well,  come,  Charles, 
we  must  be  riding  down  the  mountain.  Will 
you  meet  Azalea  this  afternoon,  Mr.  Mc- 
Birney? " 

"  You  just  believe  I  will,  ma'am,"  declared 
Thomas  McBirney,  going  forward  to  hold  Mrs. 
Carson's  horse  for  her.  "  And  it  will  be  as 
happy  an  errand  as  I  ever  took,  ma'am." 

"  We'll  be  pleased  to  see  you  often,  ma'am," 
said  Mrs.  McBirney  in  her  quaint  way,  as  she 
stood  beside  Mrs.  Carson's  beautiful  white 
mare,  looking  up  into  the  delicate,  lovely  face  of 
the  woman  above  her.  "  It's  a  great  privilege 
for  me  to  know  you,  ma'am." 

"  It's  one  of  the  best  things  that  has  come  to 


234  AZALEA 

me  to  know  you,  Mary  McBirney,"  responded 
the  other,  leaning  down  to  grasp  the  firm  hand 
of  her  new  friend.  "  I  feel  warmed  all  over 
when  I'm  with  you.  And  I'm  so  glad  you've 
decided  to  keep  inside  your  home.  I'm  even 
glad  that  your  husband  has  made  up  his  mind 
to  stay  up  here  on  the  mountain,  though  I  must 
confess  that  it  sets  back  our  plans  a  little.  But 
it  will  all  come  out  all  right.  We'll  find  some 
one  who  needs  to  come.  As  for  you  —  I  mean 
'  you-all '  —  "  she  laughed  lightly,  "  as  you  say, 
you're  better  right  here  in  this  beautiful  spot. 
Let  me  come  often,  will  you?  " 

"  Come  as  often  as  you  can,  ma'am.  It  cer- 
tainly will  make  me  thankful  to  have  you." 
Mary  McBirney  spoke  from  the  heart.  Idle 
compliments  were  not  in  her  line.  She  was 
offering  her  friendship,  and  Mrs.  Carson,  who 
had  known  brilliant  and  charming  women  and 
had  had  their  devotion  in  plenty,  felt  her  heart 
swell  with  satisfaction.  She  had  known  lovely 
women,  but  never  one  in  whose  eyes  the  lights 
of  home  seemed  to  glow  as  they  did  in  Mary 
McBirney's. 

Good-byes  were  said  by  all  save  Hi.  He,  it 
seemed,  was  not  to  be  found.     He  had  slipped 


MA  SAYS  NO  235 

away  in  his  own  fashion,  and  at  that  moment  he 
lay  on  the  red  pine  needles  back  of  the  cabin, 
"  just  bawling,"  as  he  would  have  phrased  it. 
He  was  astonished  at  himself,  and  thoroughly 
disgusted.  He  remembered  that  during  all  of 
his  troubles,  when  Sisson  beat  him,  when  he 
went  hungry,  when  he  lay  out  in  the  wet,  he  had 
not  once  "  bawled."  It  seemed  perfectly  dis- 
gusting that  he  should  be  doing  it  now  when 
everything  was  coming  all  right. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AT  HOME  AGAIN 

At  four  o'clock  that  afternoon,  at  which  time 
the  train  bearing  Mr.  Thompson  and  Azalea 
was  due  at  Lee,  Ma  McBirney  went  to  the 
"  Outlook "  and  fastened  an  old  sheet  in  the 
crotch  of  the  tulip  trees,  and  there  being  a  fine 
breeze  blowing  across  the  flank  of  the  mountain, 
it  caught  the  folds  of  this  copious  flag  and 
spread  it  to  the  breeze. 

"  Azalea  will  be  the  first  to  see  it,  likely," 
thought  Mrs.  McBirney.  "  She  has  such  sharp 
eyes." 

But  the  sharp  eyes  of  Azalea  were  busy,  at 
that  moment,  staring  disconsolately  from  the  car 
window,  many  miles  from  home.  For  there  was 
a  freight  wreck  not  far  ahead  of  them,  and,  ac- 
cording to  the  conductor,  there  was  no  telling 
when  they  could  move  on. 

It  was  quite  possible  for  Mary  McBirney  to 
hear  the  roar  of  the  approaching  train  from  her 
high-swung   home-nest,    although   the    railroad 

236 


AT  HOME  AGAIN  237 

lay  across  the  valley  from  them,  but  Jim  had 
come  home  from  school  and  heard  all  the  story, 
and  he  and  Hi  had  sat  on  the  bench  and  nearly 
stared  their  eyes  out  watching  for  the  locomo- 
tive to  push  its  black  nose  over  the  gap,  and  sup- 
per had  been  eaten,  and  the  darkness  settled 
down  for  the  night,  before  the  shrill  and 
apologetic  whistle  of  the  engine  was  heard. 

"  That  child  will  be  clean  starved,"  ma  said 
to  the  boys.  "  And  pa,  too,  unless  he  had  the 
sense  to  go  to  the  inn  and  get  supper.  And  I 
don't  suppose  he  did,  me  not  being  along. 
Seems  like  married  men  didn't  know  enough  to 
eat  unless  their  wives  was  by  to  tell  'em  when  to 
do  it." 

Not  that  Ma  McBirney  was  scolding.  She 
was  merely  passing  the  time. 

"  I  reckon  we'd  best  take  that  there  sheet  in, 
ma,  and  swing  out  the  lantern,"  Jim  said  as  he 
heard  the  distant  shriek  of  the  train. 

"  It  sure  will  cheer  them  up  to  see  it,"  ma 
said.  "  It's  all  ready  for  use,  Jim.  I  filled  it 
and  polished  it  yesterday." 

So  Jim  climbed  up  the  tulip  tree  to  the  first 
long,  out-reaching  branch,  and  swung  out  a 
serviceable  headlight  lantern. 


238  AZALEA 

"There!"  said  Jim  descending,  "It  looks 
like  the  morning  star." 

And  so  it  did  to  the  homesick  eyes  of  the  girl 
who  sat  snuggled  close  to  Pa  McBirney,  sitting 
all  starched  and  prim,  in  the  pink  gingham 
frock  of  little  Barbara  Summers. 

"What's  that,  please?"  she  cried,  nudging 
pa's  arm.  "That  away  up  on  the  mountain? 
That's  not  a  star,  is  it?    It's  too  low  down." 

"Sho!"  ejaculated  pa,  "that's  ma's  lantern. 
She's  telling  us  to  hurry  up.  You  hear,  you 
there?  "  he  called  good-naturedly  to  the  horses. 

"  Perhaps  the  boys  will  come  down  to  meet 
us." 

"  No  they  won't,  Azalea.  At  least,  Jim  won't. 
He'll  stay  with  his  ma.  As  much  as  we  can, 
Azalea,  we-all  must  stay  with  ma.  It  ain't  good 
for  her  to  be  alone  too  much.  I've  been  talking 
that  over  with  Jim  and  he  thinks  just  like  I  do. 
She's  had  too  much  trouble,  ma  has,  to  be  left 
alone  to  brood  over  them.  Not  that  she's  a  fret- 
ting one.    But  she's  deep,  ma  is." 

"  I  know." 

"  It  just  seemed  like  her  heart  would  break 
when  you  was  took  away,  Azalea.  She  sets 
great  store  by  you  —  almost  as  much  as  she  did 


AT  HOME  AGAIN  239 

by  Molly.  You  see,  she's  turned  the  love  she 
had  for  Molly,  right  on  you.  So  you  be  good 
to  her,  sister,  won't  you  now?" 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  will!  Just  as  good  as  I  know 
how." 

"  You're  a  bright  girl,  Zalie,  and  I  feel  it  in 
my  bones  that  there's  fine  things  in  store  for 
you.  But  I'm  going  to  say  right  now,  that  if  you 
can,  I  want  you  to  stick  to  ma.  If  you  can, 
Azalea.  Of  course  I  don't  want  you  to  stand  in 
your  own  light." 

The  girl  slipped  a  hand  into  the  arm  of  Pa 
McBirney.  Then  she  pointed  up  the  valley  to 
where  the  light  shone  from  the  "  Outlook." 

"  That's  my  light,  pa,"  she  said  softly. 

Haystack  Thompson,  who  had  stayed  in  town 
for  the  night,  putting  up  at  the  inn  and  intend- 
ing to  return  to  his  neglected  farm  in  the  morn- 
ing, had  given  Mr.  McBirney  an  account  of 
Azalea's  adventures,  but  now  pa  begged  to  hear 
them  again  from  the  girl's  lips.  So  she  told  him 
everything  in  her  sweet  wistful  voice. 

"  It  seems  like  I'm  a  dreadful  lot  of  trouble 
to  you,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  see  why  it  is  that  I 
had  to  bring  you  all  this  worry." 


240  AZALEA 

"Why  tain't  your  fault,  Zalie.  What's  the 
use  of  talking  like  that?  " 

"  It  seems  like  I'm  not  the  way  other  girls  are. 
I've  had  such  a  strange  life,  Pa  McBirney." 

"Well  it  hain't  been  very  long  yet,  girl  — 
hardly  long  enough  to  be  strange,  you  might 
say." 

"  Yes  it  has,  pa.  It's  been  short  and  strange. 
Now  really,  you  know,  I  ought  to  be  living  in 
The  Shoals.  That's  my  house  —  at  least,  I  mean 
it  might  have  been.  That  old  Colonel  Atherton 
you  told  Jim  about,  and  that  he  told  me  about, 
was  my  grandfather." 

She  said  it  in  a  musing  way,  as  if  she  attached 
very  little  importance  to  it,  and  her  hand  still 
rested  on  the  arm  of  Pa  McBirney. 

"  What's  that!  "  roared  pa.  "  What  you  say- 
ing, girl?  Whoa  there,  Mac.  Whoa  Nannie," 
He  brought  the  horses  to  such  a  short  stop  that 
the  stones  crashed  away  from  hoofs  and  wheels 
down  the  steep  grade  of  the  road.  "  Just  say 
that  again,  will  ye?  " 

"  I  found  it  out  while  I  was  away,  pa.  Betty 
Bowen  told  me.  She  said  mamma  never  wanted 
to  come  down  this  way,  so  near  her  old  home, 
until  just  at  the  last,  when  she  knew  she  couldn't 


AT  HOME  AGAIN  241 

live.  But  it  don't  matter,  pa.  You  don't  think 
any  less  of  me  for  being  the  granddaughter  of 
that  man,  do  you?  I  can't  help  being  related 
to  him  anyway." 

"Sho!"  exclaimed  pa.  "What  you  talking 
about,  girl?  He  may  have  been  a  foolish  man 
in  the  heat  of  all  the  trouble  of  the  war,  and 
done  things  that  hadn't  ought  to  have  been  done, 
but  he  was  quality,  Azalea.  They  was  great 
folks,  the  Athertons." 

"  Well,  the  only  ones  I  know  anything  about," 
said  Azalea  with  a  choke  in  her  voice,  "  were 
wandering  show  folks;  and  one  of  them  was  a 
friendless  orphan,  Pa  McBirney,  till  you  and 
ma  took  her  in.  There  wasn't  any  great  folks 
about  her.  There  was  just  a  miserable  little 
wretch.  Don't  change  toward  me,  pa,  please, 
please!  Don't  go  and  tell  Jim  and  Hi.  Maybe 
they'd  think  I  was  putting  on  airs.  Just  let 
everything  go  on  the  way  it  is." 

"  Nothing  ever  goes  on  the  way  it  was,"  said 
pa  profoundly,  clucking  to  his  horses.  "  But  I 
see  what  you  mean,  girl,  and  since  you  and  me  is 
pretty  good  friends,  I'll  do  what  you  want  me 
to  do.    I'll  stand  by  you  because  we  are  friends." 

He  felt  the  girl's  grateful  lips  pressed  against 


242  AZALEA 

the  rough  sleeve  of  his  coat,  and  he  laughed 
down  at  her  in  a  kindly,  almost  pitying  way. 

"  See  here,  Zalie,"  he  said,  "  don't  you  get  to 
caring  too  much  for  us.  Don't  you  get  to  caring 
too  much  for  nothing.  You  hear  me?  Keep 
calm,  Zalie.  Keep  calm.  Folks  that  cares  too 
much  gets  in  a  lot  of  trouble." 

"  Do  they?  "  laughed  the  girl.  The  remark 
seemed  to  strike  her  as  very  funny,  and  her  gay 
laughter  rang  out  like  silver  bells  on  the  night 
air.  The  horses  quickened  their  steps  as  they 
heard  it,  and  a  discouraged  looking  old  "  houn'- 
dog  "  came  out  from  a  tumble-down  cabin  and 
bayed  at  them. 

But  Pa  McBirney  refused  to  be  amused. 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,"  he  declared. 

Azalea  pulled  herself  together  and  stopped 
laughing. 

"  I  know  I'm  silly,  pa,  but  I'm  so  happy! 
You  can't  think  how  happy  I  am!  There  now, 
don't  you  try  to  tell  me  not  to  be  too  happy,  be- 
cause I've  simply  got  to  be  happy  to-night. 
Now,  I'll  be  good  and  talk  like  a  sensible  per- 
son all  the  rest  of  the  ride.  I  want  to  tell  you 
more  about  Mr.  Summers,  and  my  cousin  Bar- 
bara." 


AT  HOME  AGAIN  243 

"  Your  cousin  Barbara?  " 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Summers,  you  know.  She's  so 
little  she  seems  almost  like  a  girl.  And  we  made 
up  our  minds  to  be  kin." 

"  Oh,  you  did,  did  you?  " 

"  Yes.  We're  going  to  write  to  each  other  just 
like  we  were  cousins.    See?  " 

"  Eh-huh." 

"  I  just  love  her!  " 

"  There  you  go  again." 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  it  if  I  do.  Tell  me  about 
Carin,  pa." 

"  I  reckon  she'll  be  up  to  see  you  to-morrow 
to  tell  you  everything  herself.  She's  going  into 
some  kind  of  picture  making,  and  her  pa  and 
ma  is  simply  rooting  up  the  earth,  doing  things." 
He  told  her  about  the  project  for  developing  the 
mountain  industries  and  the  part  they  all  were 
to  play  in  it. 

"  Something  laid  out  for  every  last  one  of  us, 
you  see." 

"  Except  me,  pa.  Didn't  they  make  plans  for 
me?" 

"  They  didn't  mention  any,  but  I  suspicion 
that  they've  got  more  plans  for  you  than  for 
anybody  else.    And  that  makes  me   feel  kind 


244  AZALEA 

o'  bothered,  on  ma's  account.  Now  that  you  tell 
me  about  your  being  the  granddaughter  of  old 
Colonel  Atherton,  with  a  sort  of  right  to  live  in 
the  great  house  —  though  it  did  pass  out  of  the 
family  years  ago  —  I'm  more  bothered  than 
ever." 

Azalea  laughed  again. 

"  I  don't  believe  you're  bothered  at  all,  pa," 
she  declared.  "  Why,  here  we  are,  home !  Why, 
we're  really  home!  Didn't  the  time  pass 
quickly?  Ma!  Ma!  Hullo,  boys!  Where's 
ma?" 

Mary  McBirney  folded  the  slight  form  of  the 
girl  in  her  arms. 

"  My  prayers  was  answered,"  she  said  simply. 
"  Just  bear  witness,  children.  They  was  all 
answered.  It's  a  lesson  to  us,  ain't  it?  If  we 
want  anything  of  the  Lord,  just  ask  him,  believ- 
ing. Are  you  clean  starved  out,  pet?  Come 
right  along  in  and  have  supper.  Pa,  the 
boys  will  put  up  the  horses.  You  hike  in  the 
house  and  eat  something  decent.  I  suppose  you 
had  some  kind  of  stuff  down  at  that  there  inn. 
My  land,  it's  a  wonder  to  me  them  folks  can't 
learn  how  to  cook." 

She  led  the  girl  in  and  seated  her  before  the 


AT  HOME  AGAIN  245 

table  with  its  fine  bread,  its  glasses  of  foaming 
milk,  its  cottage  cheese  and  honey.  Then  she 
pushed  her  husband  to  his  seat,  and  hung  over 
him,  then  fluttered  to  Azalea  to  hang  over  her 
like  an  anxious  mother  bird. 

"  Here's  a  little  hot  ham  to  help  quell  your 
appetites.  And  here's  some  hominy  cakes.  My 
goodness,  Azalea,  do  eat  something.  Pa,  you 
just  ruined  your  appetite  down  there  in  that 
miserable  eating  place.  Ain't  it  wonderful  to 
have  Zalie  home  again,  pa?  The  ways  of  the 
Lord  are  past  our  comprehending.  You  must 
tell  me  everything,  Zalie  —  every  last  thing." 

The  lights  from  the  homemade  candles  flut- 
tered softly  against  the  brown  walls.  Far  off, 
the  whippoorwills  called.  The  chill  freshness 
of  the  night-enshrouded  mountain  stole  in  the 
door,  and  when  the  boys  had  returned  from  put- 
ting up  the  horses,  the  family  shut  out  the  silent, 
shadowy  world  about  them  and  drew  around  the 
table.  Their  faces,  earnest,  eager,  loving,  came 
into  the  full  light  from  the  candle  dips.  And 
there,  far  into  the  night,  Azalea  talked  to  them, 
secure  in  her  sense  of  love  and  peace. 

Afterward,  when  they  all  had  lighted  her  to 
her  chamber,  and  then  had  left  her,  she  stood 


246 


AZALEA 


for  a  while  on  her  little  gallery  listening  to  the 
whippoorwills  and  looking  at  the  low  stars.  It 
seemed  as  if  messages  of  good  will  came  from 
the  birds,  from  the  near  dark  forest,  from  the 
loud-singing  stream.  All  was  familiar  and  dear. 
And  her  fragrant  chamber  welcomed  her  with 
the  silent  sweetness  to  be  found  only  in  well- 
loved  rooms. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  SACRIFICE 

Among  the  wide  acres  of  the  Atherton  place 
was  a  certain  field  known  since  the  memory  of 
the  grandfathers  as  "  The  Field  of  Arrows." 
It  was  a  level,  sunny  spot,  surrounded  by  low 
hills.  It  backed,  indeed,  against  a  hill,  and  a 
little  stream  with  mirror-like  pools  ran  around 
it  with  scythelike  grace.  The  Field  of  Arrows 
was  almost  a  semicircle,  and  it  was  as  pleasant 
a  spot  as  any  around  about  Lee,  beautiful  though 
that  region  was. 

It  had  taken  its  name  from  the  great  number 
of  flint  arrowheads,  the  handicraft  of  the  Chero- 
kees  or  of  some  earlier  race,  who  had  camped 
or  fought  in  that  spot.  Perhaps  they  had  raised 
their  maize  there  too.  At  any  rate,  the  good 
Indian  corn  was  growing  there  now,  putting  up 
its  bladelike  leaves  courageously  to  the  young 
summer  air.  Midway  of  the  field,  that  is  to  say, 
reaching  from  the  center  of  its  base  and  running 
to  the  highest  point  of  its  circle,  a  fine  broad 

247 


248  AZALEA 

pathway  stretched,  and  beside  this  path  poppies 
and  daisies,  mint  and  mountain  pinks  had  leave 
to  grow  when  their  hour  should  come.  The 
path  led  from  the  stepping  stones  and  the  shady 
cove  where  the  kettles  and  tubs  stood  for  wash- 
ing, to  a  cabin  with  two  picturesque  outside 
chimneys  made  of  the  field  stone  and  the  reliable 
red  clay,  which  held  them  together  with  brave 
determination.  A  light  gallery  ran  in  front  of 
the  house,  with  benches  made  of  stout  ash, 
pushed  back  against  the  wall,  and  that  best  of 
drinking  cups,  a  long-handled,  polished  gourd, 
hung  on  the  wall  above  an  old  Indian  water 
jar,  hollowed  from  soapstone. 

Within  were  four  rooms  of  equal  size,  and 
back  of  the  house  was  a  summer  kitchen.  And 
everything  about  the  place,  from  the  latticed 
passageway  that  led  to  the  kitchen,  to  the  service- 
able crane  that  swung  in  the  chief  fireplace, 
spoke  of  home  and  comfort.  The  little  windows 
looked  out  on  a  prosperous  scene;  the  mulberry 
tree,  with  its  golden  bark,  had  places  of  hiding 
and  nestling  for  half  a  dozen  children.  The 
bowlders  in  the  stream  sheltered  ideal  swimming 
holes.    The  chestnut  and  butternut  trees  on  the 


THE  SACRIFICE  249 

hill  behind  the  house  suggested  happy  autumn 
days. 

"  It  will  be  a  perfect  place  for  children," 
decided  Mrs.  Carson.  "  And  that's  where  Hi's 
family  shall  live." 

She  had  taken  him  to  see  it,  and  he  had  looked 
at  it  with  eyes  which  seemed  to  recognize  it  as  a 
home  returned  to,  rather  than  as  one  just  found. 

So,  while  he  and  Mr.  Carson  took  their  three 
days'  journey  to  Hi's  home,  Mrs.  Carson  busied 
herself  with  the  cabin.  The  lattice  was  freshly 
whitewashed;  the  fireplaces  within  the  house 
and  the  chimneys  that  ran  up  visibly  to  the  ceil- 
ing, were  painted  a  dark  red.  The  floors  and 
walls  were  purified,  and  the  whole  place  fur- 
nished with  new,  strong  mountain  furniture. 
Rag  rugs  were  put  on  the  floor,  fresh  curtains  at 
the  windows,  a  good  stove  set  up  in  the  kitchen, 
the  comfortable  beds  were  provided  with  new 
bedding,  and  a  fine  little  old  clock,  taken  from 
the  attic  of  The  Shoals,  and  a  mirror  from  the 
same  place,  in  its  antique  frame,  were  set  in 
place. 

"  Tell  your  mother  to  come  right  along,"  Mrs. 
Carson  had  warned  Hi.  "  If  she  has  any  par- 
ticular treasure  she  wishes  to  bring,  well  and 


250  AZALEA 

good.  But  she's  not  to  bother  about  anything 
else.  She'll  be  glad  to  have  new  things  to  look 
at.  Women  get  dreadfully  tired  looking  at  the 
same  furniture  day  in  and  day  out.  I  believe  a 
new  outfit  for  the  house  at  the  right  time  would 
have  kept  many  a  woman  from  going  insane." 

"  Yessum,"  agreed  Jim.  "Going  over  and 
over  a  thing  is  what  wears  you  out,  ain't  it?  " 

Mrs.  Carson  had  held  some  doubts  as  to  the 
ability  of  her  husband  and  Hi  to  persuade  a 
woman  to  "  pull  up  stakes  "  at  an  hour's  notice 
and  to  go  to  a  place  she  perhaps  had  never  heard 
of.  But  it  appeared  that  Mrs.  Kitchell,  like  her 
son,  was  ready  for  adventure.  Asking  no  more 
time  than  it  took  to  wash  and  iron  the  handful 
of  clothes  possessed  by  the  family,  she  packed 
all  her  worldly  goods  —  or  at  least,  all  she  cared 
to  retain  —  in  an  old  haircloth  trunk,  and  smil- 
ing and  expectant,  turned  her  face  toward  Lee. 
It  was  a  little  brown,  nutlike  face,  much  like 
Hi's,  and  it  was  really  carved  in  smiles  in  spite 
of  all  her  troubles.  There  were  worried  marks 
between  her  brows,  it  is  true,  but  the  laughing 
marks  about  her  eyes  and  the  corners  of  her 
mouth,  discounted  them. 

The  democrat  wagon  from  The  Shoals  was 


THE  SACRIFICE  251 

at  the  station  to  meet  the  party,  and  Mrs.  Car- 
son, who  had  driven  down  in  her  little  pony 
cart,  helped  to  get  the  family  settled  in  it.  The 
little  hair  trunk  was  put  in  behind,  and  the  tribe 
of  Kitchell,  with  a  new  light  in  their  bright 
black  eyes,  turned  to  the  future. 

"  A  dear  little  strong,  staunch  woman,  isn't 
she?  "  said  Lucy  Carson  to  her  husband  as  they 
drove  toward  their  home.  "  And  the  two  girls 
are  as  nice  little  daughters  as  anyone  would  care 
to  have  —  much  better  looking  than  Hi.  But 
the  fourth  child,  the  little  boy,  looks  sickly. 
We'll  have  to  put  him  on  special  diet  —  plenty 
of  milk  and  eggs." 

Mr.  Carson  smiled  happily  to  himself.  The 
languor  was  going  out  of  his  wife's  voice;  the 
pallor  of  her  face  was  flushed  with  a  lovely  rose 
pink.  As  she  sat  beside  him,  in  her  soft  cream- 
colored  frock,  with  her  lilac  scarf  drifting  from 
her  shoulders,  her  pale  amethysts  in  their  setting 
of  old  yellow  gold  clasping  collar  and  belt,  he 
thought  her  the  sweetest  woman  he  ever  had 
seen.  She  was  sweeter  even  than  before  sorrow 
had  come  to  her.  He  had  loved  her  then;  but 
there  was  something  very  like  worship  in  the 
feeling  he  had  toward  her  now. 


252  AZALEA 


u 


We'll  drive  on  through  the  hills  the  short 
way,"  she  said,  brimful  and  flowing  over  with 
the  home-romance  of  the  Kitchells,  "  and  be  at 
the  door  to  welcome  them." 

And  so  they  were.  As  the  democrat  wagon 
drew  up,  filled  with  the  wondering  and  some- 
what awed  Kitchells,  their  good  "  neighbors  " 
—  they  would  not  have  tolerated  the  word 
"  benefactors  "  —  stood  at  the  door  of  the  cabin 
to  meet  them.  And  tired  little  Anne  Kitchell, 
her  four  children  following  her,  stepped  into 
the  door  of  her  new  home.  The  old  life  with 
the  shame  of  a  drunken  husband,  killed  in  a 
shameful  row,  was  left  behind.  She  had  the 
chance  to  begin  a  new  life,  and  to  this  feeling 
the  new  furniture  of  the  house  contributed  more 
than  she  could  realize. 

Hi  ran  from  room  to  room,  staring,  his  big 
mouth  open,  his  heart  swelling.  Once  he  waved 
his  long  arms  over  his  head,  unable  to  contain 
himself,  and  not  wanting  to  really  whoop  with 
delight.  He  listened  while  Mrs.  Carson  talked 
to  his  mother  of  this  and  that;  showed  her  the 
kitchen  and  the  store  closets,  with  their  supplies 
of  food  and  of  house  linen,  and  the  plain,  good 
wardrobes  she  had  prepared  for  the  family. 


THE  SACRIFICE  253 

"  If  I've  made  any  mistakes,  Mrs.  Kitchell, 
the  things  can  be  changed.  I  worked  according 
to  Hi's  direction.  No,  you're  not  to  thank  me. 
Not  at  all.  This  is  a  sort  of  bonus  offered  you 
for  your  being  so  obliging  in  coming  to  us  in 
our  need.  We  want  to  get  our  factory  started 
as  soon  as  possible,  and  we  couldn't  spare  you 
the  time  to  sew  for  your  family." 

She  spoke  in  a  brisk  bright  way  new  to  her, 
and  even  Hi,  boy  that  he  was,  could  see  that  a 
great  change  was  coming  over  her.  She  had 
reminded  him  of  a  tall  white  lily,  drooping  at 
the  close  of  a  hot  day;  but  now  she  was  like  that 
same  lily  in  the  morning,  and  her  petals  were 
touched  with  pink. 

So  Anne  Kitchell  was  not  allowed  to  weep  out 
her  gratitude,  though  a  dozen  times  she  thought 
she  was  going  to;  she  was  filled,  instead,  with  a 
new  desire  to  work  and  to  "  be  somebody." 
There  was  no  one  here  to  saddle  the  old  shame- 
ful stories  on  her  —  to  refer  to  her  as  a  drunk- 
ard's wife.  She  would  be  taken  at  her  own 
valuation,  and  in  her  keen,  quick  little  brain  she 
began  to  understand  that  the  valuation  might  be 
a  high  one  if  she  chose  to  make  it  so. 

Mary  McBirney  gave  her  only  a  day  or  two 


254  AZALEA 

to  settle  herself  in  her  new  home,  and  then,  with 
a  pail  of  mountain  honey  and  a  crock  of  cottage 
cheese  by  way  of  gifts,  she  came  to  see  her. 
They  liked  each  other  at  once,  though  the  life 
of  one  had  enabled  her  to  make  the  best  of  her- 
self, and  the  life  of  the  other  had  kept  her  fight- 
ing like  an  angry  rat.  But  the  honesty  that 
underlay  the  character  of  each,  and  the  interest 
each  had  in  Hi,  and  in  Azalea  —  indeed,  in 
children  in  general  —  helped  them  over  the 
little  strangeness  they  might  have  felt. 

But  Ma  McBirney  was  restless.  There  was 
something  on  her  conscience  —  something  that 
had  been  there  ever  since  her  husband  had  told 
her  that  Azalea  was  the  granddaughter  of  old 
Colonel  Atherton,  and  that,  if  fortune  had 
treated  her  kindly,  The  Shoals,  and  all  the  com- 
forts and  opportunities  that  went  with  the  pos- 
session of  the  estate,  would  have  been  hers. 
True,  the  fine  place  had  passed  legitimately  into 
the  hands  of  the  Carsons;  yet  knowing  the  gen- 
erous and  abounding  nature  of  the  Carsons  as 
she  did,  she  realized  that  were  they  to  be  told  the 
truth  about  Azalea,  they  would  at  once  offer  her 
a  home,  and  would  give  her  an  education  such 
as  their  own  daughter  was  receiving. 


THE  SACRIFICE  255 

"  I'm  a  wicked  woman,"  said  Mary  McBir- 
ney  to  herself.  "  I'm  selfish  and  sinful.  Just 
to  give  myself  happiness,  I'm  keeping  that  dear 
child  away  from  what  belongs  to  her." 

The  thought  had  goaded  her  for  days.  More, 
it  had  crept  into  the  wakeful  hours  of  the  night. 
It  had  tortured  her  as  she  watched  Azalea  busy 
about  the  house,  singing,  or  thinking  in  her  in- 
tense, curious  way.  When  the  girl  flung  her 
arms  about  Ma  McBirney's  neck,  calling  her 
the  sweetest  thing  in  the  world,  and  saying  how 
happy  she  was  to  be  back  with  her  again,  it 
seemed  as  if  Ma  McBirney's  heart  actually 
turned  over  in  her  side,  with  dread  of  losing  her, 
and  with  shame  at  her  own  cowardice. 

So,  on  the  day  she  called  on  Mrs.  Kitchell, 
she  summoned  her  better  angel  —  though  it  was 
difficult  to  imagine  that  Mary  McBirney  could 
be  surrounded  with  anything  but  good  angels  — 
and  made  her  way  to  The  Shoals. 

From  every  window  of  the  great  white  house 
fluttered  orange  and  white  awnings.  The  lawn 
was  trim  and  green ;  the  flower  beds  aglow  with 
lovely  fresh  blooms.  Hammocks  and  couches 
swung  on  the  wide  gallery,  and  linen-covered 
chairs  and  great  East  Indian  jugs  filled  with 


256  AZALEA 

growing  plants,  stood  about.  Ma  McBirney 
paused  before  the  wide  door  with  its  fan-shaped 
transom  and  looked  about  her  wistfully.  By 
saying  a  word,  Azalea  could  leave  the  humble 
little  home  which  was  now  hers,  and  come  down 
to  enjoy  the  bright  hospitality  of  this  beautiful 
place.  Music,  books,  travel  —  all  of  these 
things  would  come  to  her.  Mary  McBirney 
remembered  how  she  herself  had  longed  for  op- 
portunity in  those  early  days  when  she  first  be- 
came aware  of  her  ignorance,  and  how  she  had 
"  given  up  "  and  gone  her  quiet  way  —  the  way 
to  which  she  was  born.  But  Azalea  was  not 
like  that.  She  could  not  be  happy  in  giving  up 
an  education  and  all  that  would  go  to  make  her 
capable  and  able  to  measure  herself  with  the 
best.  What  had  meant  contentment  for  her, 
Mary  McBirney,  would  mean  failure  for 
Azalea. 

She  turned  these  matters  over  in  her  large, 
kind  mind,  and  —  rang  Mrs.  Carson's  door- 
bell. 

Mrs.  Carson's  parlor  maid,  black,  smiling, 
and  chubby,  answered  the  summons. 

"Tulula  Darthula,"  said  Mrs.  McBirney  in 
her  soft  voice,  "  might  I  see  your  mistress?  " 


THE  SACRIFICE  257 


u  T'1 


I'll  inquiah,  ma'am,"  replied  Tulula  in  even 
softer  tones.    "  Be  pleased  to  enteh." 

Mrs.  McBirney  would  have  been  quite  con- 
tent to  sit  on  the  porch,  but  the  thoughts  surging 
in  her  brain  impelled  her  to  accept  Tulula's 
invitation. 

"  Will  you  be  seated  in  the  mornin'  room, 
ma'am?  " 

Mrs.  McBirney  hesitated  a  moment.  Then 
she  said  shyly: 

"  If  you  don't  think  Mrs.  Carson  would  mind, 
Tulula,  I'd  like  to  sit  in  the  drawing  room  this 
time." 

"  Why  ce't'ney,  ma'am.    Suit  yo'sef." 

Tulula  rustled  away  with  her  message,  and 
Mary  McBirney,  who  all  her  life  had  seen  only 
the  mountain  or  the  village  homes,  entered  the 
long  shadowy  drawing  room,  with  its  paintings, 
its  occasional  white  statue,  its  shining  floor  and 
carved  furniture,  and  sitting  there,  measuring 
all  this  meant  of  knowledge  and  delight,  steeled 
her  heart  for  the  sacrifice. 

Then  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carson  entered  together, 
and  upborn  by  love,  Mrs.  McBirney  went  to 
meet  them,  saying: 


258  AZALEA 

"  I  asked  to  come  in  here  for —  for  a  reason. 
I  hope  you  don't  mind,  ma'am." 

"  Our  home  is  for  our  friends,"  answered 
Mrs.  Carson  gently.  "  I  would  like  to  see  you 
here  often,  friend." 

She  knew,  somehow,  that  Mary  McBirney 
had  a  great  thing  to  say. 

"This  is  the  reason:"  said  Mrs.  McBirney. 

And  then  she  told  them  the  whole  story. 

%  3fc  t£  %:  % 

It  had  been  rainy  Sunday.  The  rain  began 
before  daylight;  it  wiped  out  the  sunrise,  and 
it  turned  what  should  have  been  a  golden  mid- 
summer day  into  mere  blankness  and  desolation. 
At  least,  a  person  could  look  at  it  that  way  if  he 
wanted  to. 

Up  at  the  McBirney  house  no  one  had  thought 
of  dressing  for  church. 

"  No  one  but  a  fish  could  get  anywhere  to- 
day," said  Jim. 

11  I  feel  just  as  if  we  were  living  under  a  water- 
fall," declared  Azalea.  "  What'll  we  do  to-day, 
Jim?" 

"  I  don't  know  —  'less  you  tell  me  stories." 

11  Piggy?  I  don't  want  to  do  all  the  thinking. 
If  I  tell  stories  you've  got  to  tell  them  too.    It's 


THE  SACRIFICE  259 

nice  we're  going  to  have  chicken  for  dinner,  isn't 
it?  "     She  sniffed  the  air  contentedly. 

"  You  bet  it  is.  And  strawberries  and  'lasses 
cake!" 

"  I  wonder  what  Carin's  doing,  Jim?  " 

"  Fooling  'round  in  that  there  studio  of  hern. 
My,  but  she  can  paint,  can't  she?  Did  you  see 
that  picture  she  done  of  me  sitting  up  in  the 
wilier?  " 

"  Jim  McBirney,  what  makes  you  talk  like 
that?  You  know  better  than  to  say  '  done '  for 
'  did  '  and  you  know  willow  isn't  pronounced 
'  wilier.'  " 

"  Now,  look  here,  Zalie,  you  leave  me  alone 
and  let  me  talk  like  I  want  to.  I  ain't  got  on  my 
Sunday  clothes,  have  I?  Well  then,  I  don't  have 
to  put  on  Sunday  talk.  Just  let  me  feel  comfort- 
able^  can't  you?  " 

"  I  wish  Carin  were  up  here  to-day." 

"  And  Hi.  I'd  rather  have  Hi.  Carin  makes 
me  kind  o'  squirm.  She's  a  mighty  nice  girl,  but 
she  don't  make  me  feel  to  home." 

"Oh,  Jim,  she's  lovely.  And  such  fun  too! 
She  can  get  up  the  best  plays  you  ever  heard 
of." 


260  AZALEA 

"  Girl  plays,  I  reckon.  She  couldn't  think  of 
anything  that  would  interest  boys." 

"  Maybe  boys  wouldn't  have  the  sense  to  be 
interested,  smarty." 

"  Children,"  broke  in  the  soft  voice  of  Ma 
McBirney,  "  I've  got  the  dinner  in  the  oven  and 
there  ain't  nothing  occupying  me  just  at  present. 
Wouldn't  one  of  you  read  me  a  story  from  them 
Youth's  Companions  Carin  sent  home  by  pa 
last  night?    Seems  as  if  it  would  pass  the  time." 

The  children  flushed  a  little.  They  knew 
when  ma  disliked  their  way  of  talking.  She 
had  her  own  particular  fashion  of  correcting 
them. 

"  You  read,  Azalea,"  said  Jim,  sinking  into  a 
chair  and  staring  out  of  the  rain-beaten  window. 
"  And  you'll  have  to  read  good  and  loud  to  get 
ahead  of  this  bellering  and  roaring." 

And,  indeed,  the  wind  shook  the  cabin,  and 
the  rain  fluttered  down  the  chimney;  the  stream 
that  tumbled  down  the  mountain  side  was  fairly 
shouting  and  the  trees  were  beating  their 
drenched  branches  together  with  a  sound  like 
the  rushing  of  great  birds.  But  high  above  the 
elemental  din,  Azalea's  clear  voice  arose.  And 
peace  dwelt  within  the  cabin.     It  dwelt  there 


THE  SACRIFICE  261 

while  the  children  set  the  table  for  the  good 
dinner  that  Mrs.  McBirney  had  cooked,  and 
while  they  devoured  that  dinner  with  perfect 
concentration  of  purpose.  And  afterward,  when 
ma  had  read  a  psalm  to  them,  and  pa  had  told  a 
story  about  something  that  happened  to  him 
when  he  was  a  boy  and  the  fires  were  raging 
over  the  mountains,  they  settled  down  to  a  quiet 
game  of  jack  straws  on  the  deal  table. 

And  then,  just  as  they  were  on  the  point  of 
being  bored  again,  the  storm  cleared.  Above 
them  the  deep  blue  sky  shone  through  the  fleecy 
whiteness  of  the  clouds,  and  beneath  them  torn 
fragments  of  cloud  swam  along  like  floating 
islands  over  the  purple  valley.  The  sunset  came 
in  rose  and  gold,  and  in  the  east  a  proud  young 
moon,  bright  as  a  happy  bride,  swam  up  into  the 
heavens. 

The  McBirneys,  silent  and  happy,  cloaked 
against  the  dampness,  sat  at  "  Outlook  Point " 
and  looked  about  them  at  the  beautiful  world. 

"  This  is  as  good  as  church,  to  my  way  of 
thinking,"  remarked  Thomas  McBirney.  "  If 
you  can't  worship  the  Almighty  when  you  see 
a  thing  like  this,  then  there  ain't  no  manner  of 
worship  in  you." 


262  AZALEA 

"What's  that,  Thomas?  Singing?"  asked 
his  wife. 

Something  sweet  and  clear  troubled  the 
silence,  and  as  the  four  harkened  it  swelled. 

"  Singing!"  decided  Thomas.  "Who  can  it 
be?" 

They  listened. 

"  I  know,"  cried  Azalea  gayly.  "  It's  the  Car- 
sons!  Oh,  ma,  it's  Carin  and  her  father  and 
mother." 

Something  gripped  Mary  McBirney's  loving, 
jealous  heart.  She  knew  why  they  were  coming. 
She  had  asked  them  to  come  for  this  very 
thing,  but  when  the  rain  had  set  in,  it  had 
seemed  like  an  answer  to  her  secret  prayers  — 
those  prayers  which  she  would  not  admit  to 
herself  that  she  prayed,  and  which  were  no  more 
than  her  "  heart's  sincere  desire." 

The  horses  drew  nearer;  the  words  of  the  song 
could  be  heard. 

"  Now  the  day  is  over, 
Night  is  drawing  nigh  —  " 

The  three  voices,  softly  blended,  sang  the 
familiar  lines  to  the  slow  motion  of  their  horses. 


THE  SACRIFICE  263 

Azalea  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  "  Outlook  "  and 
sent  her  clear  voice,  rested  and  refreshed  from 
the  strain  it  had  undergone  in  the  days  of  her 
enforced  singing  of  noisy  songs,  ringing  down 
the  mountain  side. 

"  Shadows  of  the  evening, 
Steal  across  the  sky." 

The  tightness  at  Ma  McBirney's  heart  in- 
creased. How  like  her  Azalea  was  to  these 
others  —  like  them  in  voice  and  manner,  and 
unafraid  of  them!  They  had  heard  her,  for  Mr. 
Carson  interrupted  himself  to  call  out  to  her. 
Then  the  song  went  on,  and  there  were  four 
singing  it. 

"  Jesus  give  the  weary 
Calm  and  sweet  repose; 
With  Thy  tenderest  blessing, 
May  our  eyelids  close." 

Now  the  sounds  grew  fainter  as  the  windings 
of  the  road  took  them  away;  then  they  swelled 
again,  as  the  horses  returned  on  the  winding 
road.     But  Azalea  sang  on,  delighting  in  the 


264  AZALEA 

song  her  mother  had  taught  her  —  the  song  that 
had  comforted  her  when  she  had  grown  sick  at 
heart  at  all  the  silly  things  she  had  been  obliged 
to  sing  when  she  was  "  the  show  girl." 

"  Grant  to  little  children, 
Visions  bright  of  Thee; 
Guard  the  sailors  tossing 
On  the  deep,  blue  sea." 

"  They  are  here,"  said  Ma  McBirney  in  so 
solemn  a  voice  that  Jim  and  Azalea  stared  at 
her,  wondering. 

And  so  they  were.  They  dismounted  easily, 
threw  their  bridles,  Western  fashion,  over  the 
heads  of  their  horses,  and  walked  forward  with 
pleasant  greetings.  But  even  their  voices  were 
different.    They  too  seemed  solemn. 

"  It  must  be  the  night,"  thought  Azalea.  She 
took  Carin's  hand,  and  they  all  walked  back  to 
the  Point,  and  sat  there  watching  the  little 
islands  of  cloud  as  they  floated  across  the  path 
of  the  moon  and  turned  from  cloud  into  some- 
thing precious  and  radiant,  not  quite  so  pale  as 
silver  nor  as  bright  as  gold. 


CHAPTER  XV 

AZALEA  CHOOSES 

"  We  might  be  eagles  —  or  angels,"  mur- 
mured Mrs.  Carson,  sinking  into  her  seat. 

"  We  couldn't  stand  it  in  the  house  any 
longer,"  Carin  explained.  "  We  made  up  our 
minds  we'd  have  a  ride  even  if  the  roads  were 
bad." 

"  The  ford  must  have  been  pretty  deep,"  re- 
marked Pa  McBirney. 

"  I  took  the  leading  straps  of  the  horses  the 
ladies  were  riding,  and  we  made  a  rush  for  it 
together,"  Mr.  Carson  explained. 

Then  silence  fell.  There  certainly  was  some- 
thing strange  about  the  night. 

"  We  had  other  reasons  for  coming  up  here 
to-night,"  Mr.  Carson  said  at  last.  "  We  came 
because  we  knew  that  we  could  sit  out  here  with 
you  all,  and  that  we  could  all  look  at  this  won- 
derful scene,  and  forget  all  about  our  bodies, 
and  our  troubles,  and  our  little  human  way  of 
looking  at  things.     We  could  be,  as  my  wife 

265 


266  AZALEA 

said,  like  eagles,  or  like  angels.  We  could  re- 
alize that  we  really  were  spirits." 

It  was  Ma  McBirney  who  murmured: 

"  Yes." 

"  We  came,"  went  on  Mr.  Carson  gently,  "  to 
ask  Azalea  to  make  a  choice.  We  are  going  to 
invite  her  to  live  with  us  and  to  be  as  our  own 
daughter.  She  will  share  equally  with  Carin  in 
everything;  at  least  as  far  as  it  is  possible  for  us 
to  make  an  equal  division.  We  know  the  story  of 
her  life  and  that  under  more  fortunate  circum- 
stances the  home  we  live  in  would  have  been 
hers.  She  would  have  been  educated  in  the  best 
manner  and  fitted  for  the  life  of  a  lady  of  posi- 
tion. Now,  of  our  four  children  only  one  is 
left.  So  we  offer  her  a  share  of  our  hearts  and 
our  substance.     Do  you  understand,  Azalea?" 

Carin  threw  an  arm  about  Azalea's  waist. 

"  Oh,  say  yes,  dear.    We  will  be  so  happy." 

"  We  will  make  you  welcome  from  our  heart 
of  hearts,"  said  Mrs.  Carson.  But  it  seemed  as 
if  she  were  holding  something  back;  and  Azalea 
saw  her  white  hand  laid  upon  Ma  McBirney's 
arms. 

The  moon  had  gone  under  a  dense  cloud,  and 
they  were  left  in  the  bland,  moist  darkness.    And 


AZALEA  CHOOSES  267 

in  that  darkness  there  gleamed  before  Azalea's 
mental  gaze,  the  two  homes  —  the  great,  beau- 
tiful manor,  and  the  mountain  cabin.  She  knew 
little  of  the  life  in  the  former,  but  what  she  did 
know  of  it  came  to  her  now  with  all  its  ease,  its 
pleasure,  and  its  promise.  She  thought  of  the 
struggle  there  in  the  mountain  home;  of  the 
sacrifice,  the  hard  work,  the  eternal  "  doing 
without."  Then,  as  if  something  above  and  be- 
yond her  came  to  her  to  lift  her  out  of  herself, 
she  glimpsed  the  kind  wishes  and  helpful  affec- 
tion of  those  in  the  manor;  and  over  against 
them  she  placed  the  tense  and  tender  love  of 
Mary  McBirney  who  had  clasped  her  to  her 
heart  when  she  was  motherless. 

They  did  not  need  her  at  the  manor;  but  she 
was  greatly  needed  in  the  cabin.  Love  de- 
manded tribute  of  her.  And  suddenly,  Azalea 
knew  what  she  must  do.  If  Ma  McBirney 
loved  her  like  a  mother,  she,  Azalea,  gave  back 
a  daughter's  love.  There  was,  after  all,  nothing 
worth  thinking  of  save  that  —  save  love.  A 
warm  glow  swept  over  her,  and  the  deepest  sense 
of  contentment  she  ever  had  known  in  all  her 
restless,  curious  life  of  change  filled  her  heart. 

"  I've    thought    of    everything,"    she    said. 


268  AZALEA 

"  And  I  thank  you,  thank  you,  thank  you  — 
you  dears !  "  She  turned  toward  the  Carsons, 
and  they  could  see  that  she  was  holding  out  her 
hands  in  the  gloom.  "  But  this  is  my  home.  Ma 
McBirney  is  dearer  to  me  than  any  one  now  on 
the  earth.    I'll  stay  with  her  —  if  she  wants  me." 

And  then  she  suddenly  remembered  that  Mrs. 
McBirney  had  not  said  a  word  to  oppose  Mr. 
Carson's  arguments.  Could  it  be,  that  because 
of  their  poverty,  they  wished  her  to  go  to  The 
Shoals?  Little  cold  tremors  ran  over  her,  and 
her  heart  turned  sick. 

"  But,  ma,  do  you  want  me?  "  she  cried  with 
sharp  agony. 

"Want  you!"  sobbed  ma,  holding  out  her 
arms.    "  Want  you,  honey  bird?  " 

The  moon  swam  out  again  into  the  clear  sky, 
transfiguring  their  world.  A  mocking  bird 
began  to  sing,  whistling  low,  muffled  notes  of 
sad  sweetness. 

"  It  is  the  word  of  truth  you  have  spoken, 
Azalea,"  said  Mr.  Carson  slowly,  "  and  I  thank 
you  for  your  honesty,  and  for  your  nobility  too, 
my  dear.  We  understand  everything;  don't  we 
Lucy,  my  love?  " 

"  Everything,"  replied  Mrs.  Carson. 


AZALEA  CHOOSES  269 

"  But  now  we  have  something  to  say  which 
is  not  a  request,  but  practically  a  command. 
Next  week  Miss  Parkhurst,  a  friend  of  mine 
and  a  teacher  of  unusual  ability,  is  coming  to 
instruct  Carin.  You  are  to  come  daily,  Azalea, 
to  share  her  lessons  with  her.  And  that  the 
going  and  coming  may  not  be  too  much  for  you, 
we  are  sending  a  well-trained  little  horse  to 
you.  Its  feed  and  keep  shall  be,  so  far  as  pos- 
sible, the  care  of  my  stable  boys,  so  that  my  good 
friend  McBirney,  who  is  so  willing  to  take  other 
people's  burdens  on  him,  may  not  have  another 
one  added.  But  I  promise  you  all,  for  myself 
and  for  Mrs.  Carson  and  Carin,  that  you  shall 
be  thought  of,  Azalea,  as  the  daughter  of  this 
home  here  on  the  mountains.  And  while  we 
shall  give  you  all  you  will  take  in  the  way  of 
schooling  and  development,  we  will  not  do  one 
thing  to  win  you  away  from  the  life  you  have 
chosen." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  murmured  Azalea.  She 
could  say  no  more. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  added  Ma  McBirney, 
crushing  down  the  tormenting  little  doubts 
that  would  arise  in  her  heart.  Could  she  really 
keep  this  scarlet  tanager  in  her  wren's  nest? 


270  AZALEA 

But  no  doubts  troubled  the  others.  Jim  sat 
thinking  and  thinking.  What  wonderful  things 
came  to  Zalie!  And  he  —  he  was  a  gawk  —  a 
dunce  —  a  silly  hill  billy !  He  wondered  Azalea 
paid  any  attention  to  him!  And  yet,  somehow, 
she  seemed  to  think  of  herself  as  his  sister.  Well, 
then,  he'd  stick  by  her,  sir,  no  matter  what  hap- 
pened. Till  he  was  an  old  man  with  long  white 
whiskers  he'd  stick  by  her,  and  if  anyone  did 
her  any  sort  of  harm,  he'd  fix  him.  He  almost 
leaped  to  his  feet  and  stood  there  straight  and 
fierce  with  his  own  combat,  beside  the  girl. 

"  I  forgot  to  say,"  observed  Mr.  Carson  in  his 
slow  way,  "  that  there  will  be  two  little  horses. 
They  were  a  pair  and  the  man  didn't  want  to 
sell  them  singly.    So  the  second  one  is  for  Jim." 

"  No!  "  cried  Jim,  and  his  voice  sounded  al- 
most defiant  in  his  excitement. 

"Yes!"  cried  Mr.  Carson,  mocking  him. 
"  Shake  hands  on  it."  And  he  wrung  Jim's 
hand  in  his  own.  Then  the  boy's  shyness  came 
on  him  and  made  him  slip  away  in  the  dark- 
ness. Yet  he  was  on  hand  to  hold  the  horses 
when  the  Carsons  were  ready  to  mount. 

They  rode  away  in  the  moonlight,  with  the 
bewitching  world  of  cloud  and  shine  about  them. 


He  stood  there,  straight  and  fierce. 


AZALEA  CHOOSES  271 

The  trees  were  transformed  into  enchanted  sil- 
ver things  amid  which  elves  and  dryads  seemed 
to  hide;  the  rushing  water  was  a  torrent  of  danc- 
ing crystal  where  the  water  maidens  played. 
The  three  who  rode  away,  went  singing.  But 
this  time  it  was  a  song  that  Azalea  did  not  know. 
She  said  so  to  Ma  McBirney  with  a  troubled 
smile. 

"  What  a  lovely,  lovely  song!  And  I  never  so 
much  as  heard  it  before." 

Ma  McBirney  kissed  her  slowly,  and  said  with 
meaning: 

"  But  you  see,  Zalie,  they  are  going  to  teach 
it  to  you." 

Azalea  did  not  answer.  She  lighted  her 
candle. 

"'Night,  Jim,"  she  called.  "You  couldn't 
get  rid  of  me,  could  you?" 

"  Could  if  I  tried.    Didn't  try." 

"  Good  night,  Pa  McBirney." 

"  Good  night,  daughter."  It  was  the  first  time 
he  ever  had  called  her  that.  She  slipped  over 
and  bending  above  him,  dropped  a  kiss  on  his 
brow  as  he  sat  there  in  the  open  room  —  the 
queer  two-sided  chamber  that  divided  the  closed 
rooms  of  the  house. 


272  AZALEA 

"  I  reckon  I'd  better  go  to  your  room  with 
you,"  said  Ma  McBirney,  "  and  see  you  safe." 

So  together  they  climbed  the  rude  stairs  to 
that  cotelike  chamber  that  looked  out  on  the 
transfigured  mountain.  All  about  them,  save  for 
the  throating  of  the  mocking  bird,  was  silence. 
And  in  silence  th  :  two  parted  for  the  night. 
They  had  no  need  of  words.  Stronger  than  any 
mere  accident  of  relationship  was  the  love  and 
trust  in  their  hearts. 


Books  for  Older  Children  byL.  Frank  Baum 

The  Daring  Twins  Series 

By  L.  FRANK  BAUM 

IN  writing  "The  Daring 
Twins  Series"  Mr.  Baum 
yielded  to  the  hundreds  of 
requests  that  have  been 
made  of  him  by  youngsters, 
both  boys  and  girls,  who  in 
their  early  childhood  read 
and  loved  his  famous  "Oz" 
books,  to  write  a  story  for 
young  folk  of  the  ages  be- 
tween twelve  and  eighteen. 

A  story  of  the  real 
life  of  real  boys  and 
girls  in  a  real  family 
under  real  conditions 

Two  Titles: 

The  Daring  Twins 
Phoebe  Daring 

While  preparing  these  books  Mr.  Baum  lived  with 
his  characters.  They  have  every  element  of  the 
drama  of  life  as  it  begins  within  the  lives  of  children. 
The  two  stories  are  a  mixture  of  the  sublime  and 
the  ridiculous;  the  foibles  and  fancies  of  childhood, 
interspersed  with  humor  and  pathos. 

Price,  $1.00  each 
Publishers       The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.       Chicago 


The  Aunt  Jane's  Nieces 

Series 

BOOKS    FOR    GIRLS 

By  EDITH  VAN  DYNE 


Aunt 
Aunt 
Aunt 
Aunt 
Aunt 
Aunt 
Aunt 


SEVEN  TITLES 

Jane's  Nieces 
Jane's  Nieces  Abroad 
Jane's  Nieces  at  Millville 
Jane's  Nieces  at  Work 
Jane's  Nieces  in  Society 
Jane's  Nieces  and  Uncle  John 
Jane's  Nieces  on  Vacation 


yySTINCTLY    girls' 

-■— '  books  and  yet  stories 

JT^fjf  H  %M       that  will  appeal  to  brother 

i*^*-      Lj^^       as    we^  — an^    to    older 

folk.      Real    and   vital — 

rousing  stories  of  the  experiences  and  ex- 
ploits of  three  real  girls  who  do  things. 
Without  being  sensational,  Mrs.  Van  Dyne  has 
succeeded  in  writing  a  series  of  stories  that 
have  the  tug  and  stir  of  fresh  young  blood 
in  them.      Each  story  is  complete  in  itself. 

Illustrated  i2mo.  Uniform  cloth  binding, 
stamped  in  colors,  with  beautiful  colored  inlay. 
Fancy  colored  jackets.     Price  60  cents  each 


Publishers       The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.        Chicago 


Exhilarating  Books  for  Girls  of  Today 

The  Flying  Girl  Series 

By  EDITH  VAN  DYNE 

Author  of  "Aunt  Jane's  Nieces"  Series 

f^APITAL  up-to-the-minute  stories  for  girls  and  young 
VJ  people,  in  which  the  author  is  at  her  very  best.  Thrilling 
and  full  of  adventure,  but  of  that  wholesome  type  par- 
ents are  glad  to  put  in  the  hands  of  their  daughters.  Two 
titles: 

The  Flying  Girl 

Orissa  Kane,  self-reli- 
ant and  full  of  sparkling 
good  nature,  under-study 
for  her  brother,  prospec- 
tive inventor  and  aviator 
whose  experiments  put 
the  Kane  family  into 
great  difficulties,  in  the 
crisis  proves  resourceful 
and  plucky,  and  saves 
the  day  in  a  most  thrill- 
ing manner. 

The  Flying  Girl 
and  Her  Chum 

This  story  takes  Orissa 
and  her  friend    Sybil 
through  further  adventures  that  test  these  two  clever  girls 
to  the  limit.    A  remarkably  well  told  story. 

i2tno.  Bound  in  extra  cloth  with  design  stamp- 
ing on  cover  and  fancy  jacket.  Printed  on  high 
grade  paper.     Illustrated  in  black  and  white. 

Price  60  cents  each.   Postage  12  cents. 


Publishers       The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.        Chicago 


ANNABEL 

By  SUSANNE   METCALF 

A  GIRLS'  book  with  a  clever,  quick-mov- 
ing plot  is  unusual.  ANNABEL  is 
that  kind.  The  heroine  is  a  lovable  girl, 
but  one  with  plenty  of  snap — her  red  hair 
testifies  to  that.  Her  friend,  Will  Carden, 
too,  is  a  boy  of  unusual 
qualities,  as  is  apparent 
in  everything  he  does. 
He  and  Annabel  make 
an  excellent  team. 

The  two,  the  best  of 
chums,  retrieve  the  for- 
tunes of  the  Carden 
family  in  a  way  that 
makes  some  exciting 
situations.  The  secret 
of  the  mysterious  Mr. 
Jordan  is  surprised  by 
Annabel,  while  Will,  in 
a  trip  to  England  with  an  unexpected  cli- 
max, finds  the  real  fortune  of  the  Cardens. 

ANNABEL  is  a  book  whose  make-up  is 
in  keeping  with  the  high  quality  of  the  story. 

Beautifuf 'cover  and  jacket  in  colors,  12  mo.   Illustra- 
ted by  Joseph  Pierre  Nuyttcns.  Price  60  cents 


Publishers       The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.       Chicago 


The 

Captain  Becky  Series 

By 
MARGARET  LOVE  SANDERSON 

"D  ESOURCEFUL,  self-reliant,  sunny-nat- 
■*■*"  ured  Captain  Becky  will  find  many 
friends  among  girl  readers.  The  Captain 
Becky  Series  is  a  noteworthy  contribution  to 
books  for  girls  —  distinctive  and  individual 
in  every  detail,  inside  and  out. 

Two  very  much  alive  stories  of  a  girl 
who  makes  things  happen  —  who  is  a  doer. 
Whether  she  is  on  cruise  on  the  picturesque 
Indian  River  in  Florida  or  in  laughable 
masquerade  among  the  old  homesteads  of 
New  Hampshire,  her  experiences  are  worth 
writing  about  —  and  worth  reading.  Two 
titles: 

Captain  Becky's  Winter  Cruise. 

Captain  Becky's  Masquerade. 

Attractive  binding;  cover  inlay  in  full  color.     Frontis- 
piece for  each  by  Norman  Hall.     Price  60  cents. 

Publishers       The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.        Chicago 


Bunty  Prescott 
at  Englishman's  Camp 

By  MAJOR  M.  J.  PHILLIPS 

TAKE  a  boy  away  from  the  stuffy  schoolroom 
and  turn  him  loose  away  up  in  the  jack  pine 
country — the  land  of  deer  and  bear  and  trout,  and 
he  will  grow  "fat  and  saucy" — as  did  Bunty.    And 

if  he  is  a  wide- 
awake youngster 
he  will  find  excite- 
ment aplenty — as 
did  Bunty.  Give 
him  a  rifle,  a  rod 
and  reel,  and  a  de- 
sire to  know  things, 
and ,  well— you  have 
a  story  every  boy 
will  enjoy  reading. 
"Bunty  Prescott 
at  Englishman's 
Camp"  is  a  story 

ITHI  T\ITV  ful1  of  boy  interest' 

^OLJl^l  written  by  a  man 

_    ._,     ,-■    ■■..„  who  knows  boys  as 

PDF  ^f^^YTT  he  knows  the  woods 

|     pvPl  LJ V_^\^_^/  1    1  and    streams  —  a 

AT  ENGLISHMAN'S  CAMP    ^ZHSSSS: 

learning  something  new  of  the  lore  of  out-of-doors — 
hunting,  fishing,  camping  out. 

Snappy  cover  stamped  in  three  colors,  and  three-color 
jacket.     Illustrated  by  Emile  Nelson.     Price  $1.00 

Publishers     The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.         Chicago 


fi-sni 


Hie  Famous 


MRSHIP 


i. 

2. 
3. 

4. 

5. 


7. 


Sy  H.  L.  SAYLER 

SEVEN  TITLES 

THE  AIRSHIP  BOYS  Or,  The  Quest  of  the  Aztec  Treasure 
THE  AIRSHIP  BOYS  ADRIFT  Or,  Saved  by  an  Aeroplane 
THE  AIRSHIP  BOYS  DUE  NORTH  Or,  By  Balloon  to  the  Pole 
THE  AIRSHIP  BOYS  IN  THE  BARREN  LANDS  Or,  The  Secret  of 

the  White  Eskimos 
THE  AIRSHIP  BOYS  IN  FINANCE  Or,  The  Flight  of  the  Flying 

Cow 
THE  AIRSHIP  BOYS'  OCEAN  FLYER  Or,  New  York  [to  London 

in  Twelve  Hours 
THE  AIRSHIP  BOYS  AS  DETECTIVES  Or,  On  Secret  Service  in 

Cloudland 

Fascinating  stories  of  that  wonderful  region  of 
invention  where  imagination  and  reality  so  nearly 
meet.  There  is  no  more  interesting  field  for  stories 
for  wide-awake  boys.  Mr.  Sayler  combines  a  re- 
markable narrative  ability  with  a  degree  of  technical 
knowledge  that  makes  these  books  correct  in  all 
airship  details.  Full  of  adventure  without  being 
sensational. 

The  make-up  of  these  books  is  strictly  up- 
to-date  and  fetching.  The  covers  are  emblem- 
atic, and  the  jackets  are  showy  and  in  colors. 
The  illustrations  are  full  of  dash  and  vim. 
Standard  novel  size,  i2mo.    Price  $i.oo  each. 


Publishers     The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co. 


Chicago 


The 

Boys' 

Bi 

Game 
Series 


THE  GIANT  MOOSE.   The  monarch  of  the  big  Northwest;  a  story  told 
over  camp  fires  in  the  reek  of  cedar  smoke  and  the  silence  of  the  barrens. 

THE  WHITE  TIGER  OF  NEPAL.  The  weird  story  of  the  man-killer 
of  the  foothills.    Tinged  with  the  mysticism  of  India,  dramatic  and  stirring. 

THE  BLIND  LION   OF  THE  CONGO.     A  story  of  the  least 

known  part  of  the  earth  and  its  most  feared  beast.    A  gripping  tale  of  the 
land  of  the  white  pigmies. 

THE  KING  BEAR  OF  KAZ3SAK  ISLAND.     A  tale  of  the 

bully  of  the  Frozen  North  and  his  mysterious  guardian.      A  game-and- 
man-story  that  makes  a  good  boy-story. 

The  topnotch  of  production  in  boys'  books.   Remarkable 

covers  and  four-color  jackets.  Illustrations  and 

cover  designs  by  Dan  Sayre  Grosbeck. 

Price,  60  cents  each 

THE  REILLY  &  BRITTON  GO. 

PUBLISHERS,  CHICAGO 


The 

Boy  Scouts 

of  the  Air  Books 

By  GORDON  STUART 

Are  stirring  stories  of  adven- 
ture in  which  real  boys,  clean- 
cut  and  wide-awake,  do  the 
things  other  wide-awake  boys 
like  to  read  about. 


Four  titles, 

per  volume, 

60  cents 


l 


THE  BOY  SCOUTS  OF  THE  AIR  AT 
EAGLE  CAMP 

THE  BOY  SCOUTS  OF  THE  AIR  AT 
GREENWOOD  SCHOOL 

THE  BOY  SCOUTS  OF  THE  AIR  IN 
INDIAN  LAND 

THE  BOY  SCOUTS  OF  THE  AIR  IN 
NORTHERN  WILDS 


l-\ 


Splendid  Illustrations  by  Norman  II all 


Publishers     The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.  Chicago 


The  Best  Aviation  Stories  for  Boys 


v 


THE  ABWLANE  BOYS  SEHUS 


WHEN  SCOUT 
MEETS  SCOUT 


The 
Aero- 
Plane 
Boys 
Series 

By 
ASHTON  LAMAR 


THEAEROPLANEBQyS  SEMES 


'  I  ^HESE  are  the  newest  and  most  exciting 

-*■  books  of  aeroplane  adventure.    A  special 

point  is  the  correctness  of  the  aviation  details. 

i.  IN  THE  CLOUDS  FOR  UNCLE  SAM 
Or,  Morey  Marshall  of  the  Signal  Corps 

2.  THE  STOLEN  AEROPLANE 

Or,  How  Bud  Wilson  Made  Good 

3.  THE  AEROPLANE  EXPRESS 

Or,  The  Boy  Aeronaut's  Grit 

4.  THE  BOY  AERONAUTS'  CLUB 

Or,  Flying  for  Fun 

5.  A   CRUISE  IN  THE  SKY 

Or,  The  Legend  of  the  Great  Pink  Pearl 

6.  BA  TTLING  THE  BIGHORN 

Or,  The  Aeroplane  in  the  Rockies 

7.  WHEN  SCOUT  MEETS  SCOUT 

Or,  The  Aeroplane  Spy 


Fully  illustrated.     Colored  frontispiece. 
Cloth,  i2mo.     60  cents  each. 


Publishers       The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.       Chicago 


Good    Books    for    Boys 

The  Boy  Fortune  Hunters 

Series 

By  FLOYD  AKERS 

The  Boy  Fortune  Hunters  in  Alaska 

The  Boy  Fortune  Hunters  in  Panama 

The  Boy  Fortune  Hunters  in  Egypt 

The  Boy  Fortune  Hunters  in  China 

The  Boy  Fortune  Hunters  in  Yucatan 

The  Boy  Fortune  Hunters  in  the  South  Seas 

MR.  AKERS,  in  these  new  books,  has  at  a  single 
bound  taken  the  front  rank  as  a  writer  for 
boys.  The  stories  are  full  of  adventure,  yet  clean, 
bright  and  up-to-date.  The  first  volume  tells  of 
the  exciting  scenes  in  the  early  days  of  the  Alaskan 
gold  fields.  The  next  book  takes  "The  Boy  Fortune 
Hunters"  to  the  "Canal  Zone,"  and  the  third  story 
is  filled  with  stirring  incidents  in  a  trip  through 
Egypt.  The  fourth  book  relates  exciting  adven- 
tures in  the  Flowery  Kingdom,  and  the  fifth  and 
sixth  stories  detail  further  adventures  in  Yucatan 
and  among  the  South  Sea  Islands. 

Illustrated  i2tno.  Uniform  cloth  bind- 
ing, stamped  in  three  colors.  Stunning 
colored  wrapper.    Price  60  cents  each 

Publishers       The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.       Chicago 


An  Ideal  Book  for  Young  Travelers 

Travel  Notes  Abroad 

MY  OWN  RECORD 


Arranged  by 
CLARA  POWERS  WILSON 


IT  WOULD  be  hard  to  imagine  a  girl  who  does  not  want 
a  real  record  of  the  ecstatic  joys  of  her  first  glimpses  of 
foreign  lands.  This  very  attractive  book  is  the  first  of  its 
kind,  and  will  be  found  to  provide  for  every  kind  of  an 
experience  that  comes  to  young  American  travelers. 

There  are  departments  for  recording  the  itinerary,  the 
events  of  the  trip  across,  friends  met,  autographs,  expenses, 
different  general  divisions  for  the  various  countries,  places 
to  keep  a  memorandum  of  hotels  where  the  travelers  stayed, 
also  of  restaurants,  shops,  galleries,  and  purchases,  the 
return  trip,  etc.,  etc. 

TRAVEL  NOTES  ABROAD  is  profusely  illustrated 
and  decorated  in  two  colors  with  striking  cover  design,  and 
inclosed  in  a  box.      Price,  cloth,  Si. 50;  leather,  $3.00. 

Publishers       The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.       Chicago 


A  Novelty  Every  Girl  Wants 

The  Girl  Graduate 

HER  OWN  BOOK 

IN  WHICH  to  keep  the  happy  record  of 
her  last  year  at  school  or  college — a  book 
she  will  keep  and  prize  always. 

There  is  a  place  for  everything  dear  to 
the  girl  graduate's  heart  and  memory  — 
class  flower,  color,  yell,  motto,  photographs, 
jokes  and  frolics. 

Departments  for  social  events,  officers, 
teachers,  invitations,  baccalaureate  sermon, 
programmes,  presents,  press  notices,  class 
prophecy  and  various  "doings." 

The  Girl  Graduate  is  equally  appro- 
priate for  young  girls  leaving  grade  or  high 
schools  and  their  older  sisters  who  have 
"finished"  at  college  or  boarding  school.  It 
makes  a  suitable  present  at  any  season  of 
the  year. 

FIFTEENTH  EDITION.     Revised  and  Improved 

Dainty  designs  in  delicate  colorings  on  pearl  gray  sta- 
tionery.    Cover  to  match,  with  a  trellis  of  roses  in  tints 
and  decorations  in  gold. 
8vo.    200  pages.    Decorated  on  every  page .     Each  book 
put  up  in  an  attractive  gray  box.     Price  $1.50.    Swiss 
velvet  ooze,  price  $2.50.    Full  leather,  gold  edges,  De 
Luxe  edition,   price  $3.00.      Commencement  edition, 
crushed  levant,  price  $6.00. 

Publishers       The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.        Chicago 


A  Memory  Book  for  Younger  Girls 


School -Girl  Days 

Designee,  by 
CLARA  POWERS  WILSON 


A  SCHOOL  memory  book  appropriate  for 
girls  of  the  upper  grammar  grades 
through  high  school,  private  school  and 
normal  school.  New  and  exquisite  illustra- 
tions, printed  in  two  colors  on  specially  made 
tinted  paper,  having  a  good  writing  surface. 

Cloth  Edition 

Bound  in  fancy  cloth  with  fetching  cover 
design  in  five  colors  and  gold.  Large  8vo. 
192  pages.     In  beautiful  box.     Price  $1.25 

Classmates  Edition 

Swiss  Velvet  Ooze.    Silk  Marker.     Special  Box.     Price  $2.00 

Publishers       The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co.       Chicago 


I ' 


